


He wears a suit like it's 1945

by Shaish, Stringlish



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America the Winter Soldier, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Dapper as fuck Bucky, F/M, Gen, Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Punk AU, Punk Steve Rogers, Stuff, Tentative tags and category because I'm not sure yet, mild internal homophobia, omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 59,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaish/pseuds/Shaish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stringlish/pseuds/Stringlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Punk AU where Steve Rogers is the outcast punk and Bucky Barnes is the dapper as fuck popular kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is how he meets James Buchanan Barnes

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing it just wouldn't leave me alone send help

His full name is Steven Grant Rogers and he goes by Steve, or he would if he had anyone to call him that except his mother, the neighbors, and the waitress at the diner he likes to frequent. Most of the time he gets called, “Rogers,” or, “Hey kid.”

He's 17, and currently getting his face beat into the pavement by a bully in the alley of the building next to said diner.

The sides of his head are shaved and his bangs flop into his eyes, he's got a small, tribal heart tattoo behind his left ear and a matching, larger one on the outside of his left bicep (neither of which is mother had approved of, but he wants to wear his heart on his sleeve, even if no one bothers to get to know him long enough for him to explain that). He's wearing a denim vest with fringe around the ripped out sleeves, a white tank top and jeans that show just how skinny he is, a few piercings in his ears but nothing extreme, and he's accidentally swallowed his bubblegum right after the first hit to his face.

He picks himself up off of the cement ground, bringing his hands up in a mimicked approximation of a boxing stance, angling his head slightly to spit the blood out of his mouth.

“You just don't know when to give up, do you,” The older kid across from him says.

“I could do this all day,” Steve replies with a bloody grin, and swings at him.

 

It wasn't always like this, not until Little Jane Warner got her pigtails pulled in the fourth grade. Steve was up out of his chair before he knew what he was doing, yelling at the other kid to, “Stop! Leave her alone!”

He got a black eye, a couple missing teeth, and scraped up knees for his trouble, but Jane Warner smiled at him and said, “Thanks,” before running off, and best of all? It felt right to step in, and Steve felt good, so he'd just smiled back, two baby teeth missing and had said, “Any time!”

His mother had fretted over him, told him his personality was too big for his body and prayed for a growth spurt.

Steve got into even more fights throughout middle school; bloody noses, jammed fingernails in locker doors, a broken arm, fractured Tibia, bruised ribs. It got worse the first couple years of high school, simmered a little in his junior year.

Mostly he likes to stick to himself, since he doesn't really fit into any particular cliques or groups, because even if he looks a certain way, he doesn't seem to act like most of the kids who dress similarly, so they don't want him around them and he doesn't want _them_ around _him_ , it's a mutually beneficial arrangement, except for the part where he has no backup in a fight, not that he really minds, since it is _his_ fight.

Steve likes to sit with his art pad by any window he can find while in school, and outside when he's free, bring his knees up to his chest to rest it against them like an angled art desk, and draw, well, _everything_. He draws the other kids in the cafeteria, draws what the music that pulses through his headphones inspires, draws the buildings and houses he can spot from certain windows or outside, draws a stray cat or dog or the fountain out in the park. He draws everything, and if there's a particular face, or parts of a face (nose, eyes, mouth, hands, back, the back of a head walking away) that pops up more than once, well, he's not going to tell who it is if someone peaks over his shoulder and asks (which he hates, because the “did you draw that?” questions are ridiculous. Of course he drew that, _he's drawing that right now with this pencil in his hand, **see**?_ ).

It's not that he's ashamed, not even that he likes the guy, because he doesn't, doesn't even know him, but his features draw the eye and that fact's made no exception for Steve's artist side. He knows unique when he sees it, and he puts it in his art pad like everything else.

He's a senior this year, it's only the first month into it and he's already in a fight. But the guy was cornering a couple of girls in the booth that had been a couple ahead of where he was seated, drawing, voice getting louder and the things coming out of it getting increasingly similar to one of those obnoxious, perverse forum posts expounding about the “voluptuous bazongas on that hot digital babe.” And, well, never let it be said that Steve backs down in the face of a bully, because he _doesn't_.

So, he'd slipped his art pad into his messenger bag, put a five dollar bill on the counter and got up, carried his bag over and told the guy to, “Leave them alone, you're making them uncomfortable.” Obviously, the guy didn't feel much inclined to listen, hence why he's now got a split lip with his back to a corner in an alley.

But, at least, the guy's picking on Steve now instead of the two girls.

 

His swing goes wide and he misses, the bully coming in close and punching him in the side of the face - _again_ \- and he goes down hard, hits a couple of trash cans on the way. Steve scrambles and grabs one of the lids, coming back up and holding it in front of himself to try and block the next hit, but the guy reaches in and grabs it, wrenches it away from Steve's long, skinny hands before hitting him again. His vision goes a little black, and this time when Steve goes down he can't get himself to get right back up. The taste of blood in his mouth is both a comfort and a curse.

“Hey! Why don't you pick on somebody your own size,” he hears through his pulse beating in his ears, and after a few moments he gets his hands under him and manages to push himself up.

When he stands and glances around the alley, the bully's gone and someone else is in his place, someone in a vest and suit pants with the white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows that Steve's seen around in the halls of the school and in his art pad.

The guy's looking at him and Steve's not sure if he should be expecting another fight or not, so the first thing that comes out of his mouth to test the waters is, “I had'im on the ropes.”

The guy blinks at him for a long moment before his lips twitch up. The guy holds a hand out and it's then Steve realizes he's holding Steve's messenger bag, a little more beat up now around the edges than it already was before, missing a couple of the small pins he'd pinned towards where the strap connects to the bag itself, but not wet or stained like it could have been.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the guy says.

Steve reaches out and takes the bag, flipping it open for a moment to make sure his art pad, cellphone, and knock off mp3 player are safe before flipping it closed. “I know,” he says, slipping it over his head.

The guy blinks at him again, resting his hands on his hips as he cocks an eyebrow.

Steve mimics the same pose for a moment after wiping the blood from his nose and lip, then starts walking around _James Buchanan Barnes_ and out of the alley. “We go to the same school,” Steve says by way of explanation, nearing the mouth of the alley, “You're the most popular kid _in_ school, so not all that hard to miss.”

He gets a snort in return before there's footsteps following him, and then James Buchanan Barnes is walking with him side by side, hands slipped into his pockets as he looks at Steve, a spark in his eye. “And you're Steven Rogers, most beat up kid in the entire school,” he replies, and Steve stiffens slightly, out of hurt pride and surprise that someone around his own age actually knows and has said his first name.

Some of James' hair falls over the right side of his face, it's jaw length in the front, layered short at his neck in the back. Steve's fingers twitch slightly for a pencil, but he'll have to make do with memory later.

“Ha ha,” Steve replies sarcastically, stopping at the end of the alley, “Well, thanks for the save that I didn't need,” he says, officially leaving the alley and glancing first left then right before starting to cross the street.

“Ha!” Bucky lets out behind him, and he glances over his shoulder to see the guy grinning as he raises a hand to his mouth to half shout, “You're welcome!”

Steve snorts slightly and can't help returning the grin with a small one of his own.

This is how he meets James Buchanan Barnes.


	2. To be noticed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear it got longer. Also aprofessorstale is apparently betaing this SCREECHY NOISES. <3

He sneaks in the front door an hour later, careful to be quiet as he opens it, making sure to only open it enough for him to slip inside (because the hinges squeal something awful at the halfway mark), and close it behind him.

Steve tip toes past the living room, taking a quick glance as he goes. His mother's asleep on the couch, taking a nap in between jobs before she has to go again. He slips quietly down the hall, stopping at his room to set his bag inside the door before darting quietly into the bathroom and looking into the mirror. There's a couple of large bruises already half formed on the right side of his face, smattering across his jaw and up to his cheekbone, some dried blood around the split in his lip and around his nostrils. Overall, it's not too bad, not nearly as bad as it's been, and he reaches over to wrap some toilet paper around his fingers before tugging some off the roll, turning on the faucet and sticking it under for a couple seconds before turning off the tap and reaching up to clean around his nose and gently dab at the cut on his lip.

He picks up the sound of shifting in the living room close by before hearing a tired, “Steve? Is that you?”

He shifts his eyes back to the mirror, checking to make sure he got all of the blood off before wadding up the tissue and tossing it into the trash, stopping back at his room for a brief moment to kick off his old, knock-off, black and sky blue hightops before walking down the short, narrow hall on socked feet, stopping at the intersection of living room, front door, and kitchen.

“ _Steve_ ,” his mother says urgently, letting the blanket she had been folding up drop to the couch and quickly making her way over.

“It's fine-” Steve starts before she takes his face gently in her hands, angling it a little this way and that to get a better look, eyes a little narrow as she inspects the bruises and his split lip, but full of worry. He's a little taller than her now, so she has to look up just slightly, and he surrenders to her worried frustration.

“It's only been a _month_ ,” she says despairingly, voice quiet and full of everything she's trying not to say because they've had this conversation – _argument_ – already, more than once. Her old, Irish accent is mostly lost to her time in America.

“I know,” Steve says, forgetting about the cut and chewing on his bottom lip for a second before wincing and letting it go, “I'm sorry, mama,” he says a little quieter, eyes on the floor briefly, hearing her sigh before he looks back up.

Her expression is somehow stern, soft, and worried all at once in the way only mothers ever seem to manage to do. Her hair glows a light gold - a shade lighter than his - in the diffused sunlight coming through the soft, orange curtains to his right, her blue eyes also just a shade lighter than his own and as blue as the sky on a clear summer day. Even worn down as her two jobs make her, she's still beautiful and she still glows.

“I know you won't stop, sweetheart,” she says softly, reaching up to rest her right palm against his un-bruised, left cheek, “I just wish you'd be more careful. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you.”

Steve lowers his head slightly, a pressure in his chest that almost feels like guilt, not because of the fighting, but because the fighting worries her. He doesn't want to add to her worries, but he still manages to anyway. He can't help it though.

He lifts his head back up, glancing at the small, round clock on the otherwise barren wall behind her before looking back to her, pulling up a smile. “Come on, mama, I'll draw you something nice while I make spaghetti,” he says, lifting his head as she slides her hand off of his cheek. It's a cheap food, but it lasts a while between the two of them, even though they both get sick of it after eating it after a week straight. Still, it's all they can really afford right now, between old debts from when his father was around that need to be paid off and the rent and bills. They don't have much, but it's enough, or at least that's what they tell themselves whenever they see something in the stores they really want but can't afford.

She pulls up her own smile, something soft and warmer than the slowly changing weather outside. “Alright,” she says, and Steve backs up a little before heading to the kitchen. She follows at a little slower pace, turning on the radio once she gets there, soft music sparking and playing in the background as Steve gets out their only large pan and fills it up with water in their old sink.

Her soft humming fills the silence as Steve sets the pot - with a little strain on his arms - on the only working burner, turning on the stove top before running down the hall to grab his art pad.

He draws her some flowers that he saw on his way to the diner in a florist shop while waiting for the water to boil and then in between stirring the noodles. He doesn't have the money to buy them for her, but this way he can still give them to her.

 

Steve heads out to school the next morning, messenger bag slung across his chest and over his shoulder, headphones in his ears. The Script beats softly against his eardrums as he closes the door quietly behind him, his mother asleep in her bed, and locks it, walking down the long walkway of apartment doors and down the two flights of rickety, old stairs, hopping over that one halfway down that's on the verge of falling through.

It's starting to get cold quickly with it being October and he's trying to avoid using a coat as long as possible, he's only got the one and he can't afford to get it ruined in a fight so soon.

His eyes roam across the street as he walks, old, pale green paint peeling off of the slowly collapsing, old fence to his right, old cars lined up parked against the sidewalk to his left, telephone pole dividing the view every so often. The sun's just peaking out over the horizon to the east, streaking what it can reach in gold and letting the early morning shadows from the surrounding buildings have the rest. Steve shivers in the shade of buildings before he crosses the street and gets painted in gold with everything else.

 

He pushes his way through the double doors on the side of the high school, past the couples hanging out until the last minute around the entryway and weaving through the groups clustered throughout the halls. There's a scattered group walking towards him once he gets up the short row of stairs and he ducks and swerves with practiced ease, one hand on the strip of his bag and the other on the bag itself, finishing off his skillful - if he says so - maneuver combo with a flourished spin, and smacks right into a tall, hard chest with a medallion nose first. His nose hurts even worse now and the metal of the medallion is warm on his still October morning cold skin.

Steve raises his eyes, taking a step back to find himself staring up at Tony Stark, high school playboy and three time high school science competition winner. His father passed away last year and Tony's, essentially, become the richest high schooler in the city. To say it's gone to his head might be an understatement, but the recent development of him now dating Pepper seems to have tempered him some, but probably not enough to let Steve slide by with running into him.

Steve tries his luck anyway, turns right and moves to go around Tony and his group before a hand lands on his shoulder and he can practically hear his mother telling him yesterday that she wishes he would be more careful. He closes his eyes with a held in sigh, but keeps his shoulders up. He's not going to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing just how done he is with this routine.

“Rogers, right?” Tony asks, and Steve turns around with the pull of Tony's hand to face him, looking up at the guy.

“Right,” Steve says a little dully, pulling on his 'I-have-no-time-for-your-bullshit-and-couldn't-care-less' mask in record time.

“Huh, so you're who Barnes was talking about,” Tony says, smirking when Steve blinks at the unexpected response, mask slipping for the briefest second but just long enough for Tony to notice, because Tony notices _everything_. “See you around,” Tony says, patting Steve's shoulder roughly twice and jerking Steve with the force of it as he walks off, posse of girls following until Pepper shows up at the other end of the hall and they all scatter like a cluster of hornets in the breeze.

Steve stares after him for a moment before turning back around and heading for his class. He has no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he's not going to bother distracting himself with it, he has art class to get to.

He doesn't see _James Buchanan Barnes_ the whole way, and forgets to even look.

Natasha, who's always in the room attached to the art classroom itself with the large window, looks up from her painting to watch him as soon as he steps in. He pauses at the attention, other students bumping into and going around him, because Natasha looks up from her paintings for _no one_ , and forces himself to keep walking after the third run in with his shoulder, taking a seat at the end of a table so his back isn't to her. Steve gets the feeling that putting your back to Natasha Romanoff, new student who transferred from Russia and the rumors say is the daughter of the head of the largest _Russian Mob_ , is one of the most stupid ideas anyone could ever have unless they were a friend of hers, and even then he's not entirely sure _that_ would make it safe. He doesn't know much about her, but his gut is telling him to show no weakness and his gut is usually right, he listens to it almost as much as he listens to his music.

Steve doesn't look at her again, but he feels eyes on him off and on throughout the entirety of class, and takes off as casually as he can as soon as it's over. Steve gets the feeling she can see through him either way, mask up or not.

He takes a left at the door and the feeling of being watched, the prickle on the back of his neck, quickly fades away as soon as he's past the corner.


	3. Keep On Wanting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GINA'S BACK FROM VACATION _brace yourselves._

 

The couple walks off, chatting animatedly to each other and Steve holds out his hand for the next set of tickets, putting a smile on his face and becoming part of the decorations as soon as they’ve got them back.

It’s not the best job, but his ma needs the money, and besides, he’s used to blending into the scenery until someone needs a good punch in the face. Though he’s going to try and avoid that happening while he’s working. His ma doesn’t need any more stress on top of everything.

“Ticket please,” Steve says, turning to the next patrons pushing through the old, narrow glass door and sliding a smile back onto his face.

\--

He blows another bright pink bubble as he heads up the stairs to the apartment after his shift, pushing the gum back into his mouth with his tongue and scraping the scraps off of his lips with his teeth, chewing it up into another ball.

He’s just about to blow it out again when he rounds the top of the second floor stairs and stops, eyes landing on the two men in suits standing in front of his apartment door.

Steve shifts and presses his gum down between his cheek and lower gums and walks over, squaring his shoulders. “Can I help you?” he asks, standing as tall as he can.

The two men turn his way, one a foot and a half taller than him and smiling a little in a way that looks more like a grimace, the other’s half a foot shorter than the first and smiling too sickeningly sweet to be real.

“Mr. Rogers?” The shorter-but-still-taller-than-him one asks, and Steve holds in a sigh.

“He’s gone. You’re left with me,” Steve replies, angling his head a little to look up at the two.

The two share a look that isn’t at all subtle before the grimacing one nods. The other turns back to Steve, sickeningly sweet smile going a little hard around the edges.

“Well then,” the man starts, reaching into his dark blue suit jacket to pull out a couple of folded papers, and handing them over to Steve.

Steve takes them carefully, keeping his eyes on the two as he slowly opens it before he lets them drop to the page.

His fingers grip the edges of the paper slightly, paper crinkling faintly with the pressure. “I understand,” Steve says quietly, after a moment, bringing his eyes back up to the man.

The shorter man’s smile loses its hard edges and he nods. “We had a feeling that you would,” he says, moving to step around Steve with his colleague in tow, “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve half turns to watch them go, only moving over to the apartment door once they’re out of sight. He unlocks it and pushes inside, closing it gently behind him. ‘Mr. Rogers.’

He walks down the hall and pushes passed his door into his room, setting his bag by it a little numbly before dropping the papers down on his small desk by the window opposite the door.

‘Mr. Rogers.’

Steve walks back across the room and tosses himself face first onto his bed set into the corner left of the doorway, burying his face into his pillow before he lets out a scream.

‘ _Mr. Rogers_.’

\--

“What’s eating you, Rogers?” Tony Stark asks, bright red converse stopped three inches before Steve’s shoes and shadow looming down over him, blocking his light.

Steve glares up at Tony from where he’s sat against one of the walls of the cafeteria, knees pulled up and art pad propped against them, pencil in his hand. “You’re blocking my light,” he says back shortly.

Tony raises an eyebrow before grinning, leaning forward to loom over Steve a little more. Steve looks back down at his artpad.

“ _Am I really?_ ” Tony teases, hands on his hips, “You still didn’t answer my question. What’s eating you? You look more like a pierced porcupine than usual.”

Steve bristles and glares up at him for a moment before going back to his drawing. If he squints just enough he can almost make out the line he’d just made.

Tony stays still for a moment before standing back up straight, and Steve hears him call out, “ _Hey Barnes! Your boy here is being a grump!_ ” above him.

Steve freezes, letting out a small cough when he does it too long and his lungs protest. He looks up and Tony Stark’s looking down at him, eyebrow raised.

“What?” James Barnes asks, walking over to one of the nearby garbage cans to dump his trash, eyebrow raised at Tony before his eyes drop to Steve and he freezes, too. James’ expression shuts off so fast Steve has to blink, eyes narrowing after slightly as they watch each other.

“He’s not my ‘ _boy_ ’,” James replies stiffly, walking away with an, “ _I don’t even know him_.”

Steve and Tony watch him go, Steve feeling confused and Tony letting out a low whistle. He looks back down at Steve and Steve squints back up.

Tony stares at him for a moment before a slow, cheshire cat grin curves up his lips, winking once down at Steve before running off after James. Steve staring after him in confusion. “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much!” Tony calls out to James’ back, and James flips him off over his shoulder before slipping his hands into his suit pants’ pockets as he makes his way down the hall.

Steve stares after them for a moment, still more lost than ever, before looking back at his artpad. He glances up at the clock on the wall across the room and sighs before flipping the cover closed, sliding it and his pencil back in his bag and pushing himself up off of the floor. Time for class.

\--

“Steve,” his mother says as soon as he walks through the door. Steve catches the pinched expression on her face and the papers in her left hand and lowers his eyes slightly, closing the door carefully behind him before coming in to the living room.

“Why didn’t you show me these?” she asks, holding up the papers.

Steve glances to the side before looking up at her, squaring his shoulders. “Because it’s fine, mama,” he starts confidently, “I’ll take care of it with my job at the theater. I didn’t want you to have to worry. I can take care of it,” he continues a little quieter, and her eyes and expression softening slightly. “You already work too hard. I didn’t want to add to it.”

She lets out a soft sigh after a moment, moving over to take a seat on their ratty old couch and patting the cushion next to her with a smaller, frail hand that almost matches his own.

Steve walks over, pulling his bag off over his head and setting it down on the floor as he takes the offered seat next to her.

“Steve,” she starts, holding the papers open in her lap, “I still need to know. You are young, and it’s _I_ who don’t want _you_ to worry,” she says, smiling a little wistfully over at him.

Steve manages a smile back before his eyes drop to the papers in her lap. She lets out another sigh before folding them closed, setting them aside on the couch and taking one of his hands in both of hers, both their hands and fingers delicate but neither as fragile as they seem.

Steve doesn’t say that he’s worried, that he might not be able to make enough to take care of yet another debt his father’s left the both of them. That they’re already barely scraping by as it is. She knows all of this already, so he keeps quiet. Besides, that doesn’t mean he won’t _try_. She already works too hard, coming home after both jobs so exhausted all she really does is sleep when she’s here.

They sit together in companionable silence for a few minutes before his mother covers a quiet yawn with the back of one of her hands, patting his gently before standing up from the couch.

He watches her gather her things to head to her next job and his heart aches, but he gets up off of the couch and walks her to the door.

He smiles back when she smiles at him and wishes her a ‘ _good night_ ’ that she returns, pressing a light kiss to his cheek before heading out the door, and he tells her to, “please be careful, mama.” She smiles again and heads down the walkway. He closes the door after a few moments of watching her leave, heading back into the living room to grab his bag before walking down the short hall to his room.

He takes a seat at his desk before pulling out his homework. He needs to do better. Needs to get better grades, needs to get a good job. He needs to take care of his mother where his father does not.

Steve bites his lower lip and tries to work on a table of elements, leaning over his small, old desk with earbuds in his ears and steady beats easing the silence of an otherwise empty apartment.

\--

He hits back and he’s sure it hurts his own knuckles more than the guy’s face, but the guy gets a bloody nose and that’s got to count for _something_.

“Why you _little_ -” The guys gets out, taking another swing and hitting Steve in the side of the ribs.

Steve grunts and staggers a bit with it, kicking out at the guy when he gets too close and hitting him in the shin. His ribs already smart. Should’ve moved faster. _Should’ve moved faster_.

The guy lets out a short, pained shout from the kick before reeling his arm back to take another swing at Steve, but someone grabs the guy’s arm from behind and spins him around, socking him right across the jaw and sending him sideways into the back of a nearby building wall.

Steve blinks, eyes widening slightly, because it’s James. _Again_.

The guy charges forward to take a swing at James and James dodges, hitting up under the guy’s side before punching him across the face again, and the guy stumbles and retreats, hobbling quickly out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, around the corner and out of sight with a hand gripping his side.

James looks over at Steve and Steve looks back, finally letting out a quiet hiss at the sharp pain in his side when he breathes in and bending forward slightly as he wraps his right arm around his middle and side.

Steve hears an aborted step taken in his direction and looks up. James’ expression is a little pinched and his hand is raised slightly like he wants to help somehow before he lowers it and puts on a grin instead. “This a common occurrence? Because we really need to stop meeting like this,” James jokes.

Steve slowly stands back up straight before carefully reaching down and grabbing his bag, mindful of his ribs, putting it over his right shoulder before wrapping his right arm back around his side. “It’s not my fault the guy wouldn’t leave those girls alone,” Steve returns, walking carefully towards the sidewalk and wiping below his nose with the fingers of his left hand. They come away red. He’s not surprised in the least.

“What girls?” James asks, coming up to walk on his left, one eyebrow raised at Steve when Steve glances over.

“The girls that were looking in the window of that shop,” Steve says, pointing to the shop just to the left of the alley they’ve just emerged from, and James looks. “He kept trying to get them to go out with him and I saw it was making them uncomfortable. I told him to stop and, well,” Steve shrugs slightly, wincing a little when it jostles his side too much, “He didn’t want to.”

James looks back at him, other eyebrow rising to join the first. “You fought him because he was _botherin’ a couple’a girls?_ ” James asks a little bewilderedly.

Steve narrows his eyes at him before turning right and making his way up the slope of sidewalk. “So what if I was?” he asks a little defensively.

James follows after a moment, walking at his left again.

“Nothin’, it’s just…” James trails off, and Steve looks over to see he’s smiling a little.

Steve’s eyebrows pull together in confusion. “‘ _Just_ ’…?”

James shakes his head a little, grinning at him. “That’s real good, Rogers,” he says, sounding like he means it.

Steve’s mouth twists a little wryly before he looks back ahead, stopping at the crosswalk and pressing the button. He glances over at James who’s still standing next to him, hands casually in his suit pant pockets, like usual. Steve starts crossing the street when the sign changes and looks over at James again when he hears footsteps following.

“You followin’ me?” Steve asks a little suspiciously.

James grins back. “Maybe.”

Steve narrows his eyes slightly. “I have to go to work.”

James just smiles a little, shrugging. “Then I’ll walk you there.”

Steve stops a little ways down the next sidewalk and turns to face him. “Why,” he demands, eyebrows pulling together again, “You ‘ _don’t even know me_ ’,” he parrots back from earlier that week.

James’ expression sobers and his eyes shift to the side, looking back at Steve after a moment. “I didn’t mean that,” he starts, pulling a hand out of his pocket to slide it back through his hair while his eyes go to the ground, strands falling back over his eyes almost immediately after. “Well, no, I did, because I _don’t_ know you. But maybe I want to,” he finishes, eyes darting up to Steve, and if Steve didn’t know better, he’d think James was being _shy_.

Steve’s expression screws up a little in confusion, right hand gently rubbing his ribs through his denim vest and long sleeved shirt idly. “Why would you want to know _me_?” Steve asks, sounding as genuinely confused as he’s sure he _looks_.

James’ eyebrows rise high on his forehead before a smile starts forming on his lips. “ _Really_ , Rogers?”

Steve leans away slightly, confused and defensive. “ _What?_ ”

James huff out a laugh before shaking his head again, smiling at Steve. “Nothin’,” he says, “You just really are like a pierced porcupine.”

Steve bristles, but James holds his hand out with another grin, “Start again?”

Steve eyes him for a moment, eyes darting between James’ offered hand and face for a few moments, thinking.

James just stares at him with that same smile on his face and Steve lets out a sigh in defeat, mouth twisting up a little wryly again on one side as he raises an eyebrow back.

Steve takes the offered hand with his free one and shakes it. “My name’s _Steve Rogers_ ,” Steve says a little sarcastically, but he can feel his lips twitching up without his permission. Damn it.

James smirks before it quickly turns into another grin, shaking Steve’s hand back. “Name’s _James Buchanan Barnes_ ,” he introduces, just as sarcastically, “But most of my friends call me ‘ _Bucky_ ’. Except for Stark, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Steve half mutters. They let go of each other’s hands and both of Steve’s eyebrows rise a little. “ _Are_ we friends?” he asks.

James looks at him for a moment before nodding decisively. “We are,” he confirms, smiling again.

Steve just barely keeps himself from shuffling his feet. He hasn’t had a friend since he was _five_ , and all of the other kids realized he couldn’t play with them the way everyone else could, and left him behind.

“Then call me Steve, _Bucky_ ,” he decides after a few moments of thought, turning to continue walking up the sidewalk with a small smirk quirking up the edges of his lips.

Bucky starts walking again at his left, hands back in his pockets and a grin on his face. “Okay then, _Steve_ ,” he returns, and Steve ducks his head slightly, smirk turning into a grin too.


	4. Once you realize it, you see it everywhere

Bucky’s never been _oblivious_ of _Steven Rogers_ , not since he stepped outside after his last class was over sophomore year and saw him getting beat up by some guy by one of the trees lining the tennis court. He hadn’t done anything about it then, even though something tugged at him. Just a small twitch of something in his chest, like maybe he should butt in and intervene. But it wasn’t his problem and he didn’t know the guy. And besides, it was just the one time, right?

It wasn’t.

He’s seen _Steve Rogers_ get beat up a total of _seventeen times over the course of two years_ , and that’s apparently not even including all of the beatings he got _outside_ of school, which he hadn’t known about until his junior year’s summer break. Steve Rogers was getting beat up behind a diner and getting back up after every hit. That something twitched inside Bucky’s chest but Natalia had taken one look at the fight and said it was, “ _Not our place_.” So he’d followed after her when she’d turned away and only looked back once ( _okay, maybe it was twice_ ).

That twitching thing finally made him snap after the first month or so of school when he’d been on his way to see Stark and had glanced into an alley only to see Steve Rogers getting beat up, _again_. He intervened, either for his own sanity or Steve’s he’s still not sure. But he did.

And Steve was...different. He couldn’t really put a word or name or finger on it, just that he was.

The thing is though, he’d been aware they had a few classes together, but now that they’re _friends_ it’s like he sees Steve _everywhere_. In the hall, in their classes, in the cafeteria. It’s not a bad thing just...Like saying you want a dog and suddenly seeing _how many people have one_. Not that Steve’s a dog, just. Well.

The problem is, now when Steve gets beat up, Bucky sees it _all over the place._ And that twitching thing no longer twitches so much as _demands his attention_. He’s not sure what it is, or what it means, but it’s driving him _nuts_.

He’s quickly realizing he’s either going to have to learn to ignore it, or fall in line. Because what’s been an outsider spectacle has turned into a _participatory_ sport. Whatever it is won’t just let him walk away with a glance or two over his shoulder. No, now he _dives into the fighting head first_.

Steve gets into a lot of fights.

Marian’s going to _kill him_.

Bucky pulls the kid (Rumlow. _Is that fucking Rumlow?_ ) off of Steve and throws him back first into the lockers on the opposite side of the hall, raising his hands up loose and open in front of him while he takes a position in front of Steve, who’s on his ass on the ground with his back against the lockers with a bloody nose. _Again_. Bucky’s seriously considering carrying tissues around in his pockets just for that.

“Stay out of this, _Barnes_ ,” Rumlow spits at him, standing back up straight and taking a step towards him.

“Can’t,” Bucky replies. Because. Well. He can’t.

Rumlow’s eyes narrow slightly, glancing between him and Steve, who Bucky can hear pushing himself up with harsh breaths and a few grunts behind him, back slumping a little against the lockers with a small _thud_.

Rumlow lets out a bark of a laugh before looking back at him. “Rogers? _Really, Barnes?_ ”

Bucky doesn’t move.

“I thought you at least had _standards_ for who you become friends with,” Rumlow says with a smirk. “Now get out of the way.”

Bucky smirks back. “What? Afraid I’ll _kick your ass, Malfoy?_ ”

Rumlow makes a harsh sound before running at him, and Bucky thanks all of those Karate classes Marian made him take and being friends with Natalia when he dodges left, sweeping Rumlow’s punch down to the side and closelining him in the throat.

Rumlow gags and jerks backwards, hands flying to his throat while he coughs. He glares at Bucky and Bucky grins.

Rumlow makes some sort of growling noise and drops his hands while taking another step closer before _Principal Fucking Fury_ comes through a parting wave of the students circling the fight like fucking _Moses parting the sea_.

That’s probably not a bad estimation. Principal Fury has ways not even the other _teachers_ know about, that might as well be beyond the understanding of mortal men.

At least...that’s what he’s heard.

This might be getting away from Bucky.

“ _What is going on?_ ” Fury demands, single eye quickly scanning over the three of them and the sea of students before he crosses his arms, putting on the most _unimpressed_ _face_ Bucky has _ever_ seen. And he’s friends with _Natalia_ and _Clint_. Bucky eases out of his stance.

 _Marian is going to kill him_.

“Rogers ran into me and then his _guard dog **clotheslined me**_ ,” Rumlow struggles to get out, voice scratchy and fucked and Bucky _might_ be a little too pleased at that.

Fury’s eye goes from Rumlow to Bucky and Steve before landing back on Bucky, eyebrow raising.

“Malfoy here was beating on Steve,” Bucky explains, glancing over to see Steve using his vest as a temporary tissue for his bloody nose. Bucky winces slightly before looking back to Fury. “I may have went a little Wizard Duel on his ass,” Bucky continues. The students circled around them laugh and Fury’s eyebrow climbs a little higher. “I mean on _him_ ,” Bucky amends.

Fury’s eye lands on Steve next and Bucky sees Steve stand a little straighter out of the corner of his eye.

“Rumlow ran into me,” Steve says, voice muffled by the denim, “Bucky was just trying to help when things got out of hand. Please don’t punish him.”

Bucky blinks and looks back at Fury, who eyes the three of them again. “Mr. Coulson,” he says, and Mr. Coulson practically materializes at his right, “Please escort Mr. Rogers to the nurse’s office.” Coulson nods while signalling Steve to follow him and Steve goes, glancing at Bucky as he does.

Bucky smiles a little and Steve’s lips twitch up before he’s sucked into the crowd. Bucky’s eyes drift back to Fury.

“You two,” Fury orders, and Bucky stands up a little straighter, automatically, “With me.” Fury turns and tells the crowd to, “ _Get back to class_ ,” as he goes. The students scatter and Bucky follows, Rumlow grumbling before doing the same, glaring at him the whole way to the Principal’s office. Bucky holds in a snort.

\--

“You shouldn’t have gotten in the middle of it,” Steve says, voice coming out a little cloggy from the tissues crammed up his nose.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, leaning on the counter in the nurse’s office. “I only got a slap on the wrist,” Bucky replies, “You _wanted_ to get beat into next week?”

Steve frowns at him in a way Bucky’s quickly coming to learn means ‘I’m-stubborn-and-I-can-take-on-anything’.

Steve huffs a breath out of his mouth, pulling the tissues out and glancing at them before tossing them into the trash and getting some more, wadding them up and sticking them up his nose to replace his third set so far. “ _I could’ve handled it_ ,” Steve half mumbles, eyes looking to the side.

Bucky raises his other eyebrow. “He would’ve beat you,” he says bluntly. Steve’s eyes dart to him, all fire and anger.

“I’ve been getting on just _fine_ before today,” Steve says back defensively, “I can handle _myself_.”

“You really can’t,” Bucky replies, studying him for a moment. Steve’s all bristled up like a porcupine again. “You need to learn how to fight.”

Steve blinks, scoffing, hand quickly coming up to stop the tissue from being blown out of his nose at the motion. He looks back at Bucky after he gets them pressed back in. “And who’s gonna teach me that? Movies only go so far, _Jackie Chan_.”

Bucky snorts, expression going serious after a moment. His eyes dart down to the floor in thought before finally looking back up. “I could teach you.”

Steve’s eyes dart to him again, blinking a couple times before raising an eyebrow. “You?” he asks incredulously.

Bucky raises his own eyebrow back. “I know a hell’uva lot more than you appear to. So yeah, I could teach you some things,” Bucky bickers back.

Steve frowns stubbornly, staring at him for a long moment before his eyes drop to his lap, eyebrows still furrowed. He pulls the tissue out of his nose, checking over the amount of blood on them before tossing them into the trash and hopping down off of the medical bed. He grabs his bag and shoulders it before looking at Bucky. “I guess...that’d be fine,” Steve says a little hesitantly, but more so out of indecision than any fear. Bucky’s already learned, and learned _quick_ , that Steve doesn’t let his fear get in the way of _anything_.

Bucky grins. “Great. You working Saturday?”

Steve shakes his head, and Bucky pushes himself up off of the counter to follow him when Steve heads for the door.

“Great. We’ll meet in that alley we first met in. Noon good for you?” Bucky asks, slipping his hands easily into his pockets.

Steve raises another eyebrow, but his lips are twitching up. Bucky’s still learning to read him, but he knows that’s a good sign, even with the mess of blood on the front of his vest.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Steve replies, lips curving up just before he turns the corner to head to class.

Bucky smiles to himself before heading towards his own.

\--

“You’re going to _what?_ ” Tony asks incredulously. Bucky snatches the paper Tony’s holding out of his hand when it gets too close to their bunsen burner.

“Pay attention, _genius_ ,” Bucky grumbles, “I’m going to teach Steve how to fight.”

Tony stares at him for a few seconds before grinning mischievously, adjusting his goggles over his glasses before leaning a little closer to Bucky on his elbows on top of their lab station. “Is that _code?_ ” he asks.

Bucky frowns, leaning away where he’s got his forearm resting on the table, setting Tony’s instruction paper on the table. “What could that _possibly_ be code for?” Bucky asks, eyebrow rising.

“Oh, I don’t know...” Tony trails off with a smirk, “Any _number_ of innuendos.”

Bucky stares at him blankly. “Stark. That literally makes no sense.”

Tony scoffs, turning back to their bunsen burner, fingers twitching a little on top of the table. He’s got pyrotechnic issues.

“It does with Pepper. She’s hotter than the fire coming off of _this_ ,” Tony gestures towards the burner, “And us fighting just makes her all the _hotter_.”

Bucky’s face screws up a little. “Steve and me aren’t _dating_. Or did you miss that memo.”

Tony scoffs again, mumbling, “Not dating _yet_.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, looking over the instructions page.

“So where is this MMA practice taking place?” Tony asks a few moments later, reaching for one of their marginally filled beakers and setting it over the small flame with metal tongs.

“The alley we met in,” Bucky replies without thinking, cringing when he realizes what he’s just armed Tony with.

He glances over and Tony’s smirk has gone predatory.

Tony opens his mouth but Bucky cuts him off. “ _Don’t_ say it. It just seemed appropriate. That’s all.”

Tony closes his mouth with a grin before saying. “You’re a great liar, Barnes, but you’re not as good as Natasha.”

“I’m not _lying_ ,” Bucky says defensively. Because he’s _not_.

“ _Uh-huh_ ,” Tony replies, unconvinced, reaching his right hand out, palm up, and making grabby motions, “Now hand me that other solution.”

Bucky hands it over, only refraining from shoving Tony because he’s holding chemicals over a damn fire. Ones that their teacher didn’t assign. Not that Bucky’s complaining about that. He and Tony made glue last week that stretches like rubber. Tony’s working on getting them a patent and some more practical applications for it.

Tony carefully pours the solution into the first, now boiling, liquid and it goes from transparent to blue.

It kind of reminds Bucky of Steve’s eyes.

He shakes his head, glancing over. Tony’s too focused on the reaction to smirk at him. At last there’s _some_ small mercies in the world.

He’s not _crushing_ on Steve. Tony’s joking is just messing with his head.

Bucky looks over his shoulder to see Banner’s solution has turned a bright green, reflecting off of his eyes and making them the same color. Bruce’s lips have curved up in a gentler, but no less manic, smile that mirrors Tony’s.

Bucky doesn’t roll his eyes but it’s a close thing, looking back to their own solution. If Bruce and Tony ever actually got to _talking_ , Bucky thinks they’d probably end up blowing the school to kingdom come just with an experiment _gone wrong_. He watches Tony add another chemical that turns the blue a lighter shade, closer to the color of Steve’s eyes before it lightens to white.

He kind of hopes it happens.


	5. Teen idle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's pretty into Harry Potter just saying.

When Steve gets to the alley (after leaving his mother a note on the kitchen table because she was sleeping), Bucky’s already there, sitting on top of one of the dumpsters lining the walls, eyes staring at the brick wall across from him and head angled a little away from Steve while he reads some of the graffiti. Not for the first time, Steve wants to draw him, the slope of his shoulders, the angle of his head, the fall of his hair. Bucky Barnes is stupidly pretty, and Steve’s artistic side won’t stop _pointing_ it _out_.

Instead, he clears his throat. Bucky’s head snaps over, a smile lighting up his face as he hops down off of the dumpster.

“Hey,” Bucky greets.

“Hey,” Steve greets back, lips curving up a bit.

“You ready?” Bucky asks.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You’re fighting in slacks?”

Bucky’s smile turns into a smirk, arms raising out from his sides, palms up. “Hey, if you can get any part of them dirty, I’ll wear jeans on Monday.”

“No way,” Steve deadpans, “You own a pair of _jeans?_ ”

Bucky snorts. “You’re such a smartass.”

“Takes one to know one,” Steve returns with a smirk of his own. Bucky laughs. “Fine. Deal. Let’s do this.”

“Deal,” Bucky confirms, getting into position. “Try to mirror me.”

Steve shifts his body.

\--

“Put more of your _hips_ into the motion, Steve,” Bucky orders.

“I _would_ if I _had_ anymore _hip_ to put into it,” Steve snips back, but he tries, moving his whole body with the swing.

\--

Steve holds in a groan as he works a kink out of his right arm, breath puffing out in a small cloud in the cooling air. The sun’s working on going down and the temperature is dropping, he’ll have to get home soon.

He looks over to Bucky. “Looks like you’re wearing jeans on Monday.”

Bucky frowns at him from where he’s dusting off his shirt, looking around his pants and pulling the legs of them this way and that until he finally spots the dark smudge behind his knee. He blinks at it once before letting out a defeated sigh. “Fiiiine,” he draws out, straightening back up with a conceding grin, “Jeans it is.”

“On Monday,” Steve agrees, sticking his hands in his vest pockets as he turns to head for the opening of the alley.

Bucky rolls his eyes, sliding his hands into his own pockets as he follows. “ _On Monday_.”

Steve stops at the end of the alley, ignoring the few looks from the people passing by to focus instead on Bucky. “I have to head back,” he starts, drawing Bucky’s eyes to him, “Thanks for...the lesson though.”

Bucky smiles, hair lit up a gold-brown by the setting sun. Steve’s fingers twitch in his pockets. He’s seriously considering paints.

“No problem, Steve,” Bucky says, smile going cocky after a moment, “Maybe next time I won’t have to _step in_ and _save ya_.”

Steve huffs a breath, shoving at Bucky with a hand before quickly turning left onto the sidewalk. “See you on Monday! _In jeans!_ ” he calls over his shoulder, trying to force his heartbeat down. He just _shoved_ Bucky. Like _friends_.

He hears Bucky make an agonized sound behind him and turns to look over his shoulder as he slows his pace.

Bucky’s looking skyward, eyes in the middle of a dramatic roll before they come back down and land on Steve. “ _Yeah, yeah!_ ” Bucky half shouts after him, smiling quick and charming at a woman passing Bucky who gives him a dirty look. He looks back at Steve with a grin after she’s passed him by.

Steve snorts, ducking his head back forward to try and hide his smile.

His mother’s awake when he gets back, sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of spaghetti on her right and leaned over an open newspaper on her forearms, one hand over the other and reading glasses perched on her nose as she reads under the kitchen light, hair pulled back in an easy bun. She looks up when he walks in, pulling her reading glasses off as she smiles at him. “Did you have a good time?” she asks.

Steve nods, smiling, saying as he heads for the fridge, “Yeah, ma. I did.” And he did. Not that time by himself or with his ma isn’t enjoyable, but it’s nice spending it with someone _else_ for a change.

“What did you two get up to?” she asks. When Steve looks over, she’s got a playful glint in her eye.

He rolls his eyes good naturedly, pulling the large pot of spaghetti out and setting it on the counter before reaching up into the cupboard for a bowl and into a drawer for a knife and a fork.

“We didn’t get into any trouble,” he says back, smiling again.

His mother hums in agreement, slipping her reading glasses back on while Steve cuts out a cold chunk of spaghetti and sets it in the bowl, sticking it in their old, Good Will bought microwave and starting it up before putting the pot of spaghetti back in the fridge, lid on it and silverware on the countertop.

He pulls the spaghetti out when the microwave beeps and puts some salt and pepper on it, shoving his fork into it before washing off the knife and sticking it back into the drawer, taking his bowl over to the table and sitting across from her.

“What are you reading?” he asks, forking some spaghetti into his mouth.

“Oh, just looking for any new jobs that might be better than what I currently have,” she says, turning the page before taking a bite of her own, peppered spaghetti. “There’s not much, unfortunately,” she adds a little softer, a worry line between her gently pinched eyebrows.

Steve looks back down into his bowl while he swallows, licking the salt off of his lips before taking another bite.

“What’s this friend of yours’s name?” she asks while he’s in the middle of chewing, and he looks up, feeling a little like a deer caught in headlights. She smiles back, one eyebrow quirking up with the side of her mouth. He swallows.

“Bucky,” he says, clearing his throat a little when a noodle gets stuck on the way down.

She hums. “Bucky, hmm?” she asks, taking another bite of her spaghetti and swallowing before she asks, “His last name wouldn’t happen to be ‘Barnes’, would it?”

Steve sits up a little straighter. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

She looks back down at the newspaper, eyes going a little soft before turning to her spaghetti and taking another bite.

Steve waits patiently, gives her time to herself.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” she says finally, voice soft, “I knew his father. Well, his birth father. I don’t know the one he has now. But James Barnes, he was a good man.”

Steve’s quiet for a minute, staring down into his spaghetti before looking back up to find his mother looking at him. He swallows once, and this time it has nothing to do with his spaghetti.

“Bucky seems like a good person,” he says quieter after a long moment.

She smiles, nodding once before dropping her eyes back to her newspaper and Steve goes back to his food, smiling a little to himself while enjoying the companionable silence.

\--

He spends Sunday with his music while his mother spends it either resting or sleeping, regaining her strength for the next long week ahead. They share dinner together and talk about their week, the ups and downs and the coming Winter.

Steve finds himself looking forward to Monday.

\--

He pushes through the side doors of the school, past the routinely gathered groups at the middle row of lockers and by the doors, congregated near the bathrooms, and heads left up the stairs. He’s just gotten to the top of them, breathing a little hard, when he hears, “Rogers! Is this your doing?!” His head snaps up from where he’d been staring at the tile, blinking at Tony Stark waving his hands in the air before waving them to his right, where Steve sees- Oh.

Bucky’s in jeans, just like he promised, but they fit his legs much closer than his slacks and he’s wearing a _tshirt_ , too. It’s just a plain, black one, shouldn’t be a big deal, but Bucky’s _never_ worn a tshirt to school. Not that Steve’s seen since he, well, noticed him. He’s got his hair unstyled, too. It’s not messy, but falls easier, looks lighter. He looks-

Steve swallows and forces himself to walk over.

Bucky shifts a little, like he’s not sure what to do with himself, but he smiles at Steve. “Heya, Steve.”

“Hey-” Steve clears the roughness out of his throat, “Hey, Bucky.”

Tony snorts, then rolls his eyes when Bucky sends him a look.

“Why don’t you go find Pepper, Tony?” Bucky starts, “I’m sure she’d love to hear all about that girl Darcy you mentioned last ni-”

Tony punches Bucky in the arm and Bucky lets him, Tony’s face red.

“I didn’t mean anything by i-” Tony starts.

“Oh look, there she is,” Bucky says, expression flat, a smile lighting it right up when he looks over Tony’s shoulder to add, “Hey, Pepper!” with a wave.

Tony whirls around and Steve watches him practically run over to her, adjusting his glasses as he goes, hands gesticulating as he talks loudly once he reaches her. Steve can’t hear what he’s saying, just that it’s _loud_.

He looks back at Bucky and Bucky looks back at him, grinning before doing a full turn. “So? Jeans. You happy?”

Steve flushes a little and rolls his eyes, putting on a smirk. “You clean up _so well_ , Buck,” he says, overly sweet.

Bucky’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink and he coughs with a fist over his mouth, shrugging. “Yeah, well.”

“I’m still surprised you even _own_ a pair of jeans,” Steve says, looking down at them, “I’ve never seen you wear any before.” Steve’s eyes widen after it slips out and he looks up at Bucky, who’s staring back, surprised expression gradually melting so his lips slowly curve up into a smirk.

“You been _watchin’ me_ , Stevie?” Bucky asks, leaning in towards him a little.

Steve leans back to compensate, glancing to the side before forcing himself to look back at him and making his own expression go flat. “Oh yes. Bucky please. I’ve been longing after you since I first saw you those _many years_ ago. What am I supposed to do now that you’ve _found out_ my _greatest secret?_ ” he deadpans.

Bucky holds his expression for all of three seconds before he bursts out laughing, leaning back and bringing a hand to his forehead, combing his fingers through his hair and pushing his bangs back from his face. Steve joins in, despite himself, breaking down into something akin to giggles that he’ll deny later.

“Oh, _Steve_ ,” Bucky says on a sigh that concludes his laughter, grinning in his direction, “You’re _bad_ ,” he teases.

Steve’s heart picks up in his chest but he forces himself to scoff, turning right to head for his first class, messenger bag crossed over his chest and hands on his hips, forcing his hips to swing as much as he can. He looks over his shoulder, trying for _haughty_ and probably landing somewhere around _dumbass_ , but he tries anyway.

“I’m not _bad_ ,” Steve says, lowering his voice and looking at Bucky, eyes half lidded, “I’m just _drawn_ that way.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a minute, just stares at him, and Steve’s worried he did something wrong or fucked up his only, seemingly, real friendship since he was five. Or that maybe Bucky didn’t get the reference. But then Bucky’s shaking himself a little and smirking, all cockiness and swagger as he walks over. “Didn’t I catch you playing _patty-cake?_ ” Bucky teases back, eyebrow raised.

Steve snorts, walking again to keep pace with Bucky when Bucky moves. “You didn’t _catch_ me. I _let_ you see.”

Bucky laughs, shaking his head a little. “We need to watch that.”

Steve grins, nodding. “Saturday?”

Bucky looks over at him, grinning in return. “Saturday.”

“See you then, Mr. Valentino,” Steve says with a lazy salute, turning right at the break in the hall to head to his class.

“ _It’s a date, Mrs. Rabbit!_ ” Bucky calls after him.

Steve’s ears turn pink and he ducks his head, but he’s smiling.

\--

The week goes by without a hitch. Well, mostly. Steve gets into three fights and Bucky ends up diving into the one he’s around for, about thirty minutes after school is let out. But before Steve knows it, it’s Friday, and he and Bucky are solidifying their plans for Saturday.

“So, who’s place do we want to watch the movie at?” Bucky asks, taking a bite of a few of his fries where he’s sitting across the table from Steve.

Steve doesn’t usually sit at a table, but, well, Pepper found out about Tony’s mentions of Darcy, so Tony’s off repenting to her (whatever _that_ means. He doesn’t want to know) so his seat is free ( _Bucky still had to entice him over with the promise of splitting his fries, but who’s keeping track_ ).

“Uh,” Steve blanks, staring into space with a fry half raised to his mouth. Shit. His mom’s going to be sleeping. He probably shouldn’t _have_ company over.

Bucky must notice his pause because he swallows down his mouthful and says, “I don’t have the movie. But if we can get it somehow, we could watch it at my place?” he asks. Steve snaps out of his thoughts and looks at him. “‘ _Alexander_ ’ is going to be out of town with Marian, so the house should be free.” Bucky looks down as he says it, taking another bite of his fries.

Steve blinks, frowning a little before he forces it away. “You have a VCR?”

Bucky looks up at him for a moment in surprise and grins.

\--

Steve lets his mother know where he’s going Friday night and heads out to meet Bucky at their alley (which it basically is) on Saturday, where Bucky picks him up in his car. Steve didn’t even know he had his _license_. It makes sense, a lot of their classmates have one, it’s just. Steve hasn’t thought about it much. No point when he can’t afford anything to do with it.

Bucky shifts a little uncomfortably when Steve mentions it, eyes on the road. “Had to get it when I turned sixteen,” he says a little stiffly, taking a left, “But I like walking better. So I walk most places.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just looks at him for a moment, at his slightly clenched jaw and the tightening of his hands on the steering wheel, and looks back out the passenger window, watching the city stream by and trying not to get the interior dirty. He feels like just _being_ in it is getting it dirty, though.

When they get to the house, it’s...

“Bucky,” Steve says, gaping up at the place as they pull up the drive, “I’m pretty sure this is technically a _castle_.”

And it basically _is_ a castle. It has spire-like structures, large glass windows, a sprawling garden (that includes a large fountain with knights. _Knights_. With horses and lances and _everything_ ), large slabs of stone, but it’s...the design is closed off in a way that suggests solitude, a ‘ _look in awe but you’re not actually welcome into our privacy_ ’ kind of vibe. Steve’s not sure he likes it.

He glances over when the car comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the front door and Bucky’s looking down at the steering wheel, hands tightening again. “We can...go somewhere else, if you want,” he says, glancing over at Steve while the car idles.

Steve looks at him for a moment before looking up at the front door outside the passenger window, looking back to Bucky after a moment, who’s still looking at him.

“No, this is...This is fine,” Steve says a little quieter before finishing more decisively, unbuckling his seat belt and pushing his door open. He lifts his bag out of his lap as he steps outside, closing the door behind him.

He hears the car engine shut off and the other car door open and close a few moments after him. Hears Bucky come around the front of it and come to a stop at his left.

“It’s just…” Steve trails off, trying to swallow down his nerves even though it’s basically just going to be him and Bucky in the house. Somehow he still feels...overwhelmed.

“A lot to take in,” Bucky says quietly, and Steve looks over.

Bucky looks back.

“Yeah. I know,” Bucky says, before stepping forward and leading the way up the stairs. Steve frowns slightly but follows.

He was able to put two and two together easily enough from what his mother told him. He doesn’t know when Bucky’s father died, or his mother (if she did), or when he started living in this...castle. But it...must’ve been hard for him.

He tries picturing having to do the same, but he can’t get past his mother’s smiling face in his mind.

He follows Bucky inside and is glad he brought his inhaler when he gets a look at the interior.

\--

“I’m hungry,” Bucky sighs three hours later. They’ve moved on from _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_ \- quoting half and barely remembered lines at each other along with it - and have started the _Harry Potter_ series, Bucky grumbling and nitpicking here and there through the entire just finished first movie about inconsistencies with the books that Steve mostly hasn’t been able to read. Bucky had looked shocked when Steve mentioned it and all but _made_ Steve agree to take his books back with him so that Steve could read them.

“I’m fine-” Steve’s stomach gives a quiet growl and Bucky smirks over at him. Steve sighs. “Fine. What do you have?”

Bucky hops up from the couch and Steve gets up to follow on bare feet (he’d almost slipped three times in his socks on the wood floor and nearly broke a vase that looked more expensive than Bucky’s _car_. He’d rather not repeat that near heart attack thank you very much). Bucky hums, shuffling his way towards the kitchen with his socks still on (Steve had sent him a look and muttered, “Show off.” Bucky had grinned and ran to the living room without falling like the insufferable _show off_ he is. Steve was more than impressed, but he wasn’t telling _Bucky_ that).

Bucky stops at the fridge, pulling the large, stainless steel (naturally) door open and leaning back to survey their options. Steve comes to a stop on his left, peering around the door and over the top of Bucky’s arm holding it open to take a look. Bucky makes a disgusted sound.

“Spinach, carrots, eggs, fruit, and, oh look, _more spinach_ ,” Bucky says, face scrunched up when Steve turns his head to look.

Steve snorts while Bucky closes the door with a forlorn sigh, looking over at Steve. “Pizza?” he asks.

Steve frowns. “I don’t have any money, Buck.”

Bucky frowns back. “You’re my guest. You don’t have to pay.”

Steve’s frown deepens. “Bucky.”

Bucky’s frown deepens as well, hands coming to rest on his hips. “ _Steve_.”

Steve narrows his eyes.

Bucky sighs after a few moments, rolling his eyes. “ _Fine_ ,” he says, “Think of it this way: you brought the movie and saved me from the most boring Saturday ever. The pizza is my thank you.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, but the longer he stares at Bucky the more he can see the truth in his words, so Steve relents, nodding.

Bucky grabs the phone off of the kitchen counter and dials (from _memory_ ). “Hi, I’d like-” he cuts off, looking at Steve.

“Pepperoni,” Steve mouths, and Bucky grins.

“Two large pan pepperoni pizzas,” Bucky orders, pausing for a moment before asking thoughtfully, “Do you guys still sell cookie dough?”

\--

“Bucky, I can’t eat all of this,” Steve says an hour and a half later, collapsing back onto the couch after he swallows down his bite of cookie dough.

Bucky groans, collapsing next to him. “That’s alright, pal, I don’t think I can either.” He burps and Steve makes a commiserating sound.

Together they managed to finish off the pizza just fine, but they only made it halfway through the large tub of cookie dough, spoons still sticking out of it like they planted flags and claimed land and called it good.

“We could bake it,” Bucky says thoughtfully a few minutes later. Steve turns his head to look over at him.

Bucky glances over. “You could-” he cuts off, yawning, “You could take some home to your family.”

Steve raises his eyebrows a little, looking back at the cookie dough in thought.

He can’t remember the last time he or his mom had something like that. Maybe his birthday? He looks back to Bucky, who’s still watching him, eyes half closed like he’s on the verge of falling asleep. Steve can’t blame him, he’s not faring much better.

“Alright,” Steve agrees quietly, letting out his own yawn.

“Alright,” Bucky mirrors, eyelids slipping closed, “We’ll do that after...after I rest my eyes.”

Steve snorts and Bucky reaches over to shove him a little with his eyes closed, but it’s half hearted and uncoordinated.

Steve lets himself fall over anyway, pulling his legs up to curl up on the couch, his own eyes sliding shut.

\--

Steve groans quietly when he feels something against his leg, slapping a hand down and somehow getting his fingers into his pocket to pull his vibrating cellphone out. He brings it up to his face and blinks his eyes open against the brightly lit screen, only managing to get them adjusted enough to read it right when the screen goes black. Who would call hi-

Oh.

_**Shit.** _

He sits up quickly, ignoring the groan of protest from his left as he redials the number that just called, bringing his phone up to his ear. It picks up on the second ring.

“ _Steve?_ ” his mother asks.

Steve lets out a breath. “Hey, ma,” he starts, “I-” He cuts off, finally looking around the room. The first _Harry Potter’s_ bluray menu is still playing on loop on the large flat screen tv, the only light in the whole dark room. _Shit_ , it’s late. “I’m so sorry. I’m coming home right now,” Steve half rushes, getting up. Bucky pushes himself up to sitting from where he was slumped on his side to Steve’s left, rubbing his face with a hand before pushing his bangs out his face, watching while Steve looks around in the dark for his socks and Steve holds in grunt when he hits his shin on the coffee table.

“Steve?” Bucky asks groggily, stretching his arms and legs out with a yawn.

“It’s dark out,” Steve says back, letting out a victorious sound when he finds his other sock, falling back onto the couch to pull them both on.

“What?” Bucky asks, looking around. “Oh. _Oh_ ,” he says, sounding more awake, “Shit. _Steve_ , I’m sorry.” He gets up to find his socks as well.

“It’s alri-” Steve cuts off when he finally notices his mother saying his name for the fifth time. “Yeah, ma?”

“ _I don’t know if I like the idea of you driving around this late_ ,” she says calmly, “ _I don’t want to pressure Bucky, but if you want to say the night, you can. You’re more than old enough_.”

“But,” Steve pauses, glancing over at Bucky who’s standing near the end of the couch, one sock in hand as he blinks back.

“ _It’s alright to ask_ ,” she says gently. Steve looks off to the side of Bucky, frowning slightly into the dark. “ _Would you like me to talk to him?_ ”

“No,” Steve says quickly, “It’s alright. I’ll ask.” He looks back up at Bucky, who raises his eyebrows back in question. “She doesn’t really feel comfortable with us driving all the way back this late,” Steve explains, “She wants to know if it’s alright if I stay here. Which you don’t have to,” he adds quickly when Bucky blinks at him, “If you need me to go I can go.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow after a moment and holds his hand out for the phone. Steve hesitates.

“Uh, mom, he wants to talk to you,” Steve says before finally handing it over.

Bucky takes it, bringing it up to his ear. “Mrs. Rogers?” he asks, “Yes, this is Bucky. Yes. Yes.” Bucky smiles.

Steve can’t hear the conversation, so he waits.

Bucky looks down at Steve. “No, that’s perfectly fine. Yes. Yes, he can stay the night. Yes. I’ll drive him back around noon tomorrow? Alright. Yes. It was nice talking to you, too. Alright. Here you go,” He says as he hands the phone back to Steve. Steve takes it.

“Ma?” he asks.

“ _You can stay the night, Steve_ ,” she says with a smile in her voice.

Steve lets out a quiet breath. “Are you sure you’re alright with that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she replies, sounding almost scolding. Steve ducks his head a little. “ _You just have fun_ ,” she adds gentler. Steve smiles.

“I am, ma,” Steve says softly.

“ _Goodnight, Steve. I love you_ ,” she says just as soft.

“Goodnight. I love you too,” Steve replies, waiting until the other end of the line disconnects before pressing ‘end’ on his phone. He looks back up.

Bucky’s smiling softly. Steve’s pretty sure his ears are turning red. At least it’s dark.

“How do you feel about phoenixes?” Bucky asks after a few moments.

Steve blinks, snorting when he gets it. “I didn’t get far enough in the book to find out.”

Bucky makes a pained sound, dropping his sock and picking up the second _Harry Potter_ bluray. “ _Steve_ ,” he says dramatically, “You wound me.”

Steve grins while Bucky changes the discs, the tv briefly painting the room in a painful blue.

\--

They bake the cookies the next morning, both spooning out the dough in between eating it on two of the biggest and most unused cookie sheets Steve has ever _seen_ , so they manage to get them done with time to spare before Bucky drives him back to his place.

Steve’s hesitant to actually give Bucky the directions to get there at first, because his place in comparison to the _castle_ that Bucky lives in highlights just how much Bucky is the _Prince_ and Steve is the _Pauper_. But Bucky swears he’s just going to drive Steve around the city until he gives Bucky an answer and Steve eventually relents, mostly because the cookies are still warm in the bag in his lap and he wants his mother to be able to try them while they’re still mostly fresh.

When they pull up into the parking lot, Steve holds his breath, surprised into motion when Bucky cuts the engine and steps out. He unbuckles his seat belt and shoves himself out of the car, closing the door behind him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow over at him. “Relax, Steve,” he says, “I won’t come up if you don’t want me to.”

Steve frowns a little and glances up to the second story of apartments, looking back when Bucky says a little quieter, “It’s really not bad. Familiar, even.”

Steve watches him for a moment and Bucky looks back, smiling a little.

Steve smiles in return before making himself move, coming around the front of the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, pausing on his way to the stairs.

“Yup,” Bucky replies easy, grinning.

Steve grins back with a nod before walking the rest of the way and up the stairs to the second landing, looking back down when he reaches his apartment door to find Bucky still standing at his car, forearm braced on the roof while he leans against it.

The apartment door opens before Steve can do it and his mother’s there, smiling at him. Steve smiles back before looking out past the railing again and his mother steps out of the apartment enough to look as well, waving back when Bucky grins and waves up at them, finally slipping back into his car after and closing the door, starting it before pulling out of the parking lot and heading back to his house.

“Like his father,” she says a little quietly with a soft smile. Steve looks over and she looks at him for a moment before her eyes shift down to the bag in his hand. “There seems to be quite a few in there,” she comments as she turns to lead the way inside.

Steve shrugs, following. “He insisted I take the whole thing,” he replies, “I tried to get him to keep half, but he wouldn’t.”

“Hmm,” is all his mother says.

Steve closes the apartment door behind himself and tries to figure out if she meant anything by that response. If she got the same feeling that he did. That even though Bucky is better off than they are, doesn’t have to worry about the rent or debt collectors, that there’s something about him that seems so...lonely, especially after Steve spent time in that echoing, empty castle Bucky has to call a home.

He doesn’t know what he can do to help, he deals with his own brand of loneliness. But, maybe, he makes it a little less so when they’re in the same space. _Bucky_ manages to make him feel that way, so maybe _he_ does the same for Bucky, too.

...Nah. Steve’s just the pauper with the weight of his father’s problems on his shoulders. Bucky’s the prince surrounded by friends. Steve can’t be making _that_ much of a difference.

Besides. He’s just Steve. Just a kid from Brooklyn. Nothing makes him special.

His mother pours them both two small glasses of milk and they share a few cookies, smiling at each other in their tiny kitchen.

Nothing.


	6. She’s so fierce and full of that fire, what’s a boy to do? She yells and I crumble, she’s got the power, she’s barely five foot two. She’s a hurricane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A GLIMPSE INTO THE PAST YES. These two ended up being way more adorable than I was prepared for omg
> 
> Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62hH0BRkhxE

“If it isn’t _little Sarah_ ,” one of the boys says with a too easy side smile and a raised eyebrow. But she just keeps walking, books held comfortably to her chest and dress swaying gently with her smooth steps and the soft breeze.

“ _Ey! Sarah!_ ” The boy calls out again, breaking off from his four man group of friends to run after her.

“I wouldn’,” James says from where he’s leaning against the side of the building in the shade, hands in his pockets and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, rolled cigarette hanging angled and loose out of the corner of his mouth, watching.

“Shut yer yap, Barnes,” the boy growls back as he passes, catching up with Sarah and grabbing her arm to stop her.

“Let go of m’arm, Fergis,” Sarah says, Irish accent still strong even after a year of being in Brooklyn, only a little testy at being jostled. Fergis holds on but gentles his grip.

“Aw, come on, Sarah!” he says with a grin, “I been nice to ya all week. ‘Least show a guy a smile, ya?”

Sarah’s jaw tenses, jerking her thin arm out of Fergis’ grip. “I owe ya _nothin’, Fergis_ ,” she says firmly, “Just ‘cus ya nice t’me doesn’t mean I owe you a _lick_.”

James smirks.

Fergis’ eyebrows pull together, frowning heavily after a moment.

“I wouldn’,” James repeats, smirk still pulling up his lips.

Fergis’ eyes dart over to him, growling again. “I said _shut yer yap, Barnes!_ ” he half yells over before turning back to Sarah. “I been good to you, Sarah. Ya smile for me now, yeah?”

“No,” she says firmly, turning back around to keep walking.

Fergis lashes a hand out to grab her arm again, spinning her around. “Ya-”

Her books drop with the jerk of motion and she swings her right fist, catching him square across the jaw hard enough to send him half spinning with it. Fergis’ hand comes up to his face, wide, shocked eyes on her as he looks back, his friends laughing where he left them by the railing in front of the smoke shop.

“Why you-!” he cuts off, taking a step towards her, “Ya moved here from that there _Ireland_ and most other people were given you the _eye!_ But I was _nice_ t’ya!” He pulls his fist back and she squares her shoulders, eyes hard and defiant.

Just as Fergis is about to take a swing, he’s pulled back by a hand on his arm and spun around, a foot coming out mid spin to trip him into a nearby brick building, hitting it face first.

Fergis groans, pushing himself back and looking around, a hand coming up to his bleeding nose. “ _You!_ ” he yells.

James holds his hands up, cigarette still dangling out of the side of his mouth. “Me?” he asks innocently.

“ ** _You!_** ” Fergis repeats, fully turning around. His friends are starting to come closer, sensing a fight on the horizon. “I’ll-!”

The door to the brick building flies open and Mr. Gregory steps out, looking tall and cross with his curled mustache and near bald head, thick arms crossed over his wide chest and white butcher’s apron, blood near the bottom and in no mood.

“You take this scuffle away from my shop,” he orders, “Or I’m _callin’ the police_.”

Fergis’ mouth snaps shut with a clack of teeth, turning angry eyes from Gregory to James to Sarah then back to James again. “This ain’t over!” he threatens, heading off to the right - giving Gregory a wide birth - and down the street, friends following while sharing glances over their shoulders and exchanging murmurs.

Mr. Gregory watches them go before giving a look to James, who raises his hands with a conceding nod and turns around to find Sarah staring up at him with her arms crossed and that same fiery defiance in her eyes, hair lit up gold in its ponytail like a firework under the blazing sun and light blue and white dress still billowing gently in the breeze, looking like a fighter version of Alice in Wonderland, last he read.

“I coulda’ handled’im,” she says firmly, staring him down.

James thinks he might be a little bit in love.

“I know,” he replies easily with a smile, crouching down after a moment to start picking up her books, “Ain’t gonna stop me from helpin’ ya.”

She doesn’t move for a moment, but then she’s crouching down too and picking up two books while he takes three. She lets out a cough and his eyes dart up, tracking where her eyes are looking at the cigarette in his mouth, a hand covering her own mouth and nose.

He reaches up and pulls it out of his mouth, stubbing it out on the ground quickly and waving a hand through the smoke to make it disperse faster before standing back up, holding onto the butt. She follows, slowly removing her hand from her mouth and nose.

“Sorry,” he says, shoving the butt into his pants pocket and wiping his hand on the leg of them before ruffling his hair curled a little at the back of his neck, “I won’t smoke’em ‘round you no more.”

She blinks up at him for a moment, lips curving up a little in a small smile. “You don’ hav’to,” she says.

James shakes his head a little, smiling back. “Nah,” he says after a moment, “Not worth it.”

She blinks again, eyes widening a little and mouth parting slightly before she lets out a quiet laugh. He likes the sound of it.

She holds her hand out and he pulls his fingers out of his hair quickly to shake it. “James Barnes,” he introduces.

She laughs again, a light sound that reminds him of birds, just like her thin fingers and thin wrist.

“I was gesturin’ for m’books,” she says with a smile, a teasing glint in her eyes.

He jumps a little, handing them over quickly but making sure she’s got a hold of them just fine.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, a little quietly, cheeks warm with embarrassment. When he looks up from making sure she’s got the books, she’s smiling again. He can see why Fergis wanted to see it so badly. It’s beautiful.

“Sarah,” she says after a moment, and he smiles.

“I know,” he says, sliding a hand down his face with a groan, “Not that I’m followin’ ya or nothin’! he says quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just...noticed you,” he says a little quieter, looking back up a little bashfully. He’s makin’ a mess o’this.

Her smile softens and she nods once, turning around after a few moments. She pauses, turning back. “Thank ya, James,” she says, and he nods, heartbeat fast and loud in his ears.

She turns back around and continues walking, and he watches her blonde ponytail sway softly with her steps and her light blue dress bounce slightly on a breeze, skin like ivory in the sunlight. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling like a goof until Mrs. Marshal asks him if he’s got himself a date when he passes her oranges cart.

He buys a few oranges just for her noticing even though he shouldn’t really be spending the money and doesn’t way a word, just grins the whole way to the docks to start his shift.


	7. We'll play a game with tanks and jets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck I'm so sorry. This is still being worked on just at a _lot slower pace_ than the other things I'm also trying to work on. I've pretty much got it all generally planned out, I know where it's going, I just need to _write it_ , so I might actually get a few more chapters out faster than this one. 
> 
> Also, Gina is super busy this quarter of her classes so she won't be betaing anything I'm writing, it'll just be me, so I'm sorry if there's any errors, I'll try to catch them. Thanks for your patience guys.

October weather officially hits two weeks into the month and Steve’s forced to use his winter coat. He’s had it for at least five years and it’s worn all over, patched in a few places. There’s loose threads hanging on the end seams and creases all over from years of moving and getting into fights in it. It’s not the warmest, mostly in December and January, but it will keep him warm enough until then, toasty when he walks to school in the mornings.

He runs his fingers over the side of his head and feels the prickle of hair growth, lets his hand drop back to his side and curl his fingers around his messenger bag strap, sleeves almost past his knuckles, making a mental note of it. Time to let it grow out for the winter.

He’s just gotten up the steps of the first hall, breath coming a little short like it always does from the trek, when he hears, “ _Rogers!_ ” and holds in a groan. Ever since he started hanging out with Bucky, Tony Stark’s assumed that makes them friends _too_. Steve’s not exactly opposed to it, per say, it’s just that-

“You look like a patchwork!” Tony exclaims, heading straight for him and throwing an arm around his shoulders with a smirk, jostling him so hard he almost trips sideways, “Our very own little Match Stick Girl.”

Tony’s _loud_. And _obnoxious_. How does Pepper Potts put _up_ with him? Let alone _date_ him?

Steve bristles and levels Tony with a _look_. “Not all of us invented the wheel and can afford _designer brand wear_ ,” he replies flatly, pinching the back of the hand that belongs to the arm he’s got around his shoulders.

Tony retrieves it with a yelp, rubbing it with his other hand while he pouts. He smirks again after a moment though, and Steve watches him warily.

“Why, Rogers,” Tony says coyly, then breaks out into a smug grin, “You resemble a little punk porcupine the more and more I get to know you.” Steve bristles again and Tony runs off with something like a cackle when they both hear Bucky yell warningly, “ _Tony!_ ” from halfway down the hall, walking fast towards them. Bucky can’t even _hear_ what Tony’s saying and he’s already trying to ward him off. Steve thinks that says more about Tony than anything else.

Tony’s rounding the corner of the other end of the hall by the time Bucky reaches Steve, Bucky letting out of a huff of breath that shoots some of his bangs straight up into the air. Steve can’t hold back the snort that comes out. Bucky looks over at him, lips pulling up like he can’t help it.

“Shuddup,” Bucky grumbles, but he’s smiling now.

“Defendin’ my honor,” Steve says, overly sweet as he turns to head down the hall, “ _My hero_.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh, following. “ _Please_ ,” he says, “If I were _actually_ trying to defend your honor, you’d probably try to kick my ass.”

Steve scoffs. “No ‘ _try_ ’ about it, I’d _definitely_ kick your ass.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s _with_ Steve and not _at_ him, and the sound of it makes Steve smile, warmth in his chest that he can count on one hand the amount of times he’s felt in his entire life.

\--

Tony’s off making amends to Pepper, _again_ , the next week, so Steve’s sat with Bucky at the lunch table where Tony usually sits, sharing a big batch of fries between them and talking about nothing and everything. It’s amazing how often they can do that and not get bored. Steve’s never had someone he could do that with before. Well, no one but his mother, but that’s different. 

They’re a quarter of the way through the fries and arguing about how they’d each defeat a basilisk when a blur of red plops down next to Steve and he looks over, promptly freezing with fries halfway to his mouth and mouth hanging open.

Natasha Romanoff stares back, unimpressed and stony as ever, and Steve jolts at the sound of a throat clearing, eyes darting back over to Bucky.

Taking his eyes off of her makes him feel like he just bared his throat, though.

“Natasha. I think you’re scaring him,” Bucky says, and he’s got this smile on his face like it’s _amusing_ , one eyebrow raised.

Natasha’s eyes slide from Steve to Bucky, reaching a hand out to take some fries for herself. Bucky _tsk_ s like he cares, but doesn’t make a move to stop her.

“I scare everyone,” she says calmly, like it’s a fact (it is), but Bucky laughs.

“Not me. Not Clint,” he replies.

“ _Especially_ Clint,” she returns, but Steve notices that she doesn’t add Bucky to that list.

Steve watches them, eyes darting between the two. Natasha looks back to him.

“Are you going to finish those?” she asks.

Steve blinks, eyes darting down to the fries still paused on their way to his mouth. He brings them the rest of the way up and takes a bite, face heating. It gets even hotter when he glances over again and finds her unnerving stare still fixated on his face.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks, once he’s finished the fries and started reaching for more, taking one instead of the handful he’d been taking before.

Natasha quirks a fine brow, just slightly, before reaching over and taking a few more fries for herself, fingers delicate and elegant in a way that has Steve’s twitching for a pencil. He takes a bite of his fry instead, glancing over to find Bucky staring at it with a slightly furrowed brow and confusion on his face. His eyes shift up to Steve’s and he raises his eyebrows almost accusingly. Steve gives him a look back and Bucky shrugs before taking a few more himself, letting it drop. Steve looks back to Natasha, the back of his hair standing on end. She finishes chewing before speaking.

“I just wanted to meet the person James won’t stop talking about,” she says, perfectly casual.

Steve chokes trying to swallow and Bucky makes a disgruntled noise, grabbing the fries and tilting them away when Natasha goes to reach for more. Her hand pauses mid-air, eyes on Steve and fingers poised, and Steve thinks she might strike Bucky with them if Bucky doesn’t relent.

Steve reaches over after a moment and angles the fries back towards her, with a little resistance from Bucky, and her lips curve up slow at him as she reaches over and takes some, Bucky making another disgruntled noise.

“I have a bad feeling about the two of you meeting,” Bucky says ominously, “You’re already teaming up against me.”

Natasha’s lips curve up a little more around her bite of fries, still staring at Steve. Steve shifts.

“He hasn’t really mentioned you a whole lot,” Steve admits to her, a little quieter. Natasha snorts, and even _that_ sounds elegant somehow.

“No. He wouldn’t,” she says lightly, rising from the table after finishing her fries, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Steve.” She offers her non greasy hand out to him.

Steve takes it with his own grease-free hand, but doesn’t shake it, just holds it. “You, too,” he says, managing a small smile.

Her lips curve up into a small one back, and then they’re releasing hands and she’s practically floating away. Bucky makes a noise and Steve looks back to see him frowning down at his fries.

“Buck?” Steve asks after a moment, the only sounds the chattering and banging of the other students in the cafeteria.

Bucky jolts, just slightly, and glances up, looking back down at the fries quickly. “Well, that was probably the smoothest meeting I’ve ever seen her have with a new friend of mine,” he says a little too casually, shoving a fry into his mouth like he’s trying to keep himself from saying anything more, or avoid talking.

“Really?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods, setting the fry container back in the space between them. “She still kind of terrifies me. I’m just glad I survived.”

That gets Bucky to look up at him and crack a smile.

\--

“You wanna ride home?” Bucky asks, hushed and quiet in the last class they have together, Mr. Coulson writing something about World War II up on the chalkboard. Steve leans right a little on his desk, eyes darting to the front to make sure Coulson isn’t looking before focusing on Bucky.

“You drove?” he asks, voice also hushed.

Bucky glances away for a moment before looking back at Steve, shrugging a shoulder a little jerkily. “I have a few errands to run after my last class, but I can give you a ride. If you want,” he tacks on.

Steve smiles a little, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I have to head to work today after I stop at home.”

“You sure?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods, both of them jumping and whipping their heads around to the front when Mr. Coulson clears his throat. Steve ducks his head, but when he looks over, Bucky’s relaxed in his chair and smiling charmingly towards the front, eyes darting to Steve after a moment out of the corner of his eye.

Steve’s lips twitch up, and he sees Bucky’s do the same.

\--

“You doing anything for Halloween, Rogers?”

Steve jumps where he’s collecting his things, the other students filing out of the art room. He whips around to find Natasha Romanoff standing behind him, lips edged up just slightly in what he thinks might be her version of a smirk, small and coiled tight like she's ready to spring. He's not sure if she does it on purpose of it that's all just her.

“I...might be working?” he answers in a question. He’s not sure of his schedule yet.

Natasha makes a slightly disappointed sound, looking off to the side at one of the graduated student’s displayed sculptures. “That’s too bad, Stark’s throwing a party at his place,” she says casually.

“I...He hasn’t mentioned it,” Steve replies, “I don’t think I’m invited.”

She looks back to him. “You’re invited,” she says confidently, and Steve’s brow furrows a little uncertainly. She shrugs a shoulder nonchalantly, shifting her straight hair a bit, off of her shoulder. “Bucky’s going,” she says, almost out of nowhere. Steve clenches his things a little tighter. “I think he’d like it if you went,” she finishes, lips quirking up into something that looks more like an actual smile.

“Um…” he says, “I’ll try? If it’s alright with Tony.”

“Good,” she nods, turning around and heading back for her painting without another word.

Steve stares after her for a moment before the sound of one of the next class' students dragging out a chair, metal on hard tile, jolts him out of his thoughts and he finishes gathering his things.

\--

Tony catches him later after his last class and throws a flier at him, grinning all the while.

Steve just manages to catch it and scans over the words.

Turns out, he _is_ invited.

\--

And not working.

“I don’t know what I’m going to wear,” Steve says a little melodramatically, staring despairingly into his closet.

“Just go as what you did a couple of years ago,” his mother says from his doorway. Steve makes a sound in the back of his throat.

“I don’t want to be a neon rave ninja this year,” he says, rifling through his hanging clothes. His mother laughs quietly and he hears her steps approach from behind as he frowns at an old tan trenchcoat.

“Well, you are a beyond talented artist,” she says, and Steve looks over at her, cheeks warming, “You’ll think of something.” She smiles at him before turning around and heading out of his room, back down the hall.

Steve turns back to his closet, chewing his lower lip for a long moment before he pulls the trenchcoat out.

\--

“You have your phone?” His mother asks as he fixes his hair for the tenth time in the mirror, nerves twisting up his stomach. Gentle fingers circle his wrist and pull his left hand away, turning him towards her.

“Yes,” he answers, right hand coming up to fiddle with his tie. His mother grabs that wrist too, forcing him to stop.

“You look great, dear,” she says with a smile.

He takes in a breath, huffing it out in a long exhale. “Yeah?” he asks.

She nods, releasing his wrists. “Now,” she says, putting an arm around his waist and steering him down the hall towards the front door, “You have fun.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” he asks, a little desperate for a reason not to go now.

His mother gives him a knowing, stern look, and plants them both in front of the front door. “Steven Grant Rogers,” she says firmly, and he straightens up automatically. She smiles softly. “You stop worrying about me for one night and _go_ _have fun_ _with your friends_.”

He lets out a shaky breath, ducking his head for a moment before lifting it back up and smiling at her. “I will.”

She nods once, appeased, and opens the door for him. He takes another breath before stepping out.

“Be careful,” she says, and he half turns to look at her, nodding with a smile.

“I will, ma,” he says, and she smiles, light from the apartment spilling out into the twilight hour and backlighting her in fluorescent gold.

He steels himself, squaring his shoulders like he’s going off to war, and heads for the stairs.

\--

He ends up taking the bus to the end of Tony’s street, or what turns out to be the end of the _gated community_. He’s pretty sure the bus driver and the blonde woman in his lap dressed in purples were reenacting _Hocus Pocus_. He’ll have to show Bucky the picture he took of them if he can find him at the party.

He heads up the curving road past the large, swirling gates outfitted in fake cobwebs and horrific “ _BEWARE_ ” signs, children darting around and going from house to house with their parents amidst the other people his age seemingly heading in the same direction as him. Some he recognizes from school, a lot he doesn’t.

When he does get to Tony’s address, he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and _stares_.

The house is the one at the very end of the street, dead center across from the curving dead end of the street and at the top of the hill.

It’s _huge_. Bigger than Bucky’s castle, even.

It’s tall and triple layered, modern, and with glass windows almost _everywhere_. Some structures of the house are jutting out this way and that, and there’s a wrap around... _second story porch?_ That seems to circle the entire second _floor_. The first story has what looks like a _moat_ half wrapped around it on the side, water streaming down from the edge of the floor down into a lower level, and a large, glass...it’s a pool, Steve knows it’s a pool, but all he can think of is _tank_ behind it, also surrounded by its _own moat_ and cement stairs and lit from below by bright lights.

There’s people everywhere, too. A lot in the pool, in the windows he can see of the house, on both the back and front _lawn_. Steve’s chest constricts almost painfully and he fishes his inhaler out of his pants pocket, bringing it to his mouth and taking a breath. It settles him, somewhat, but he still has the strongest urge to turn around and head back for the _Hocus Pocus_ bus that he knows is no longer stopped at the end of the street.

He glances at the people walking past him up to the house and looks back up at the place, squaring his shoulders again and taking another breath before putting his inhaler back in his pocket and walking forward. Let it never be said that Steve is a coward.

\--

In retrospect, he probably should’ve figured that Bucky would be easy to find.

After getting jostled for five minutes and pushing his way through packed bodies dancing to the music for another three, he spots Bucky leaning against one of the first floor pillars, long black robe billowing a little with the cold breeze due to the first floor’s nonexistent side wall as he watches Tony (who’s dressed in something red and gold and _mechanical_ ) tell a story to at least twenty people crowding around him on the couch. The open floor plan is definitely...open. Steve’s glad he decided to dress semi-warmly.

Bucky’s got a red and gold tie on and a wand sticking out to the side where his arms are crossed, glasses perched on his nose. Steve pushes through the last of the crowd and after a moment Bucky’s eyes land on him, expression lighting up as he stands up away from the pillar.

“Steve!” Bucky says.

“Harry!” Steve jokes back, and Bucky laughs, spreading his arms out and doing a quick twirl.

“I _am_ the chosen one,” Bucky agrees proudly, grinning as Steve comes closer. His eyes scan over Steve and Steve tries to keep himself still and fight away the heat trying to warm his cheeks, unmoving under Bucky’s scrutiny. “Steve,” Bucky says gravely when his eyes settle back on Steve’s face.

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve says, unaccountably nervous.

Bucky takes a step closer, and Steve has to look up.

“‘My name is Kramer. _Chaz Kramer, asshole_ ’,” Bucky quotes, completely straight-faced.

Steve bursts out laughing, bending at the waist with it. He hears Bucky join in a second after. Steve straightens back up. “I’m not _that_ Constantine,” he scolds.

Bucky grins. “I know,” he says, “But I couldn’t help it.”

Steve rolls his eyes and that’s about the time a guy dressed in purple with a bow and arrow comes stumbling over, almost tripping between them and leaning against the pillar as he throws up onto the grass outside.

Bucky makes a disgusted sound. “ _Barton!_ ”

Purple arrow guy just groans and heaves again.

\--

Things are quiet for a bit after that. Steve’s still working with his mother to try and clear his father’s old debts, and he and Bucky hang out on the regular now. Natasha even starts to make the occasional appearance at the lunch table (though Steve’s noticed it’s only when Tony’s away and Steve’s able to sit in his spot. He’s not sure if he should be feeling accepted into the pack or terrified). His mother’s been looking a little pale, but he’s tried to buy a few things to help boost her immune system where he could. She’d smiled and kissed his forehead (and he’s worried, but he tries to keep it away).

“You’re looking pale, Rogers,” Natasha says from his left, and Steve jumps slightly, looking over. “More than usual,” she adds, reaching for one of the chicken nuggets on Bucky’s little cardboard tray with her eyes on him.

Bucky raises his hand like he’s going to bat her hand away, then seems to think better of it and sets it back down. “I’ve been trying to tell him that all morning,” he says as Natasha takes the nugget, and Steve looks back to see Bucky frowning at him, a worried line between his brows.

“I’m fine,” Steve says, reaching for a nugget of his own, breaking it in half and offering part of it to Bucky. Bucky narrows his eyes and Steve knows it’s not enough of a distraction or offering to make him drop the subject, but Bucky takes it.

“Maybe you should visit the nurse. Get a second opinion,” Bucky says back, popping the half nugget into his mouth.

“My mother _is_ a nurse,” Steve returns with a raised eyebrow, “I’m _fine_.” Except, he does feel a little warm-cool, like the beginning of a fever. He burrows into his coat a little.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. They haven’t really talked much about what their families do. It’s mostly been kept to conversations about other things when Bucky and Sarah talk (and their conversations aren’t short, either). Not to try and hide it, just. It never came up.

Bucky opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, eyes tracking Steve’s burrowing, then snaps it shut, pursing his lips.

Steve knows he’s not going to drop it, exactly, but for now he’s as good as safe.

He steals another nugget.

\--

Steve’s slouched on Bucky's couch with Bucky watching _Blade Runner_ , sun going down out the windows when his _warm-cool_ feeling goes _hot-cold_. He can feel the sweat starting to drip down his spine under his hoodie and he’s having a hard time keeping Deckard’s running around in focus, trying to keep his eyes open long enough to see Roy Batty's final scene.

\--

He blinks his eyes open (he’s not even sure when they shut) when he feels something warm on his shoulder gently shaking him and an equally gentle and worried, “ _Steve?_ ”

He turns his head and finds Bucky hovering over him, a nearby lamp (metal, shiny, stiff, like most of the decorating in what Steve’s dubbed ‘ _The Castle_ ’. It almost looks like someone pointed at a picture in a billionaire's home decorating catalog and said, “Yes. Cold, distant, and intimidating but welcoming enough for temporary guests. Perfect”).

“Steve?” Bucky asks again, and Steve blinks a few more times, trying to get a slightly blurry Bucky face to focus into view.

“Sorry,” is the first thing he says, voice coming out like a croak. He clears his throat. It doesn’t help a whole lot ( _shit_ ). “What time is it?”

“A little after eight,” is Bucky’s gentle reply. _Double_ shit. They started the movie around four. “Did you _actually_ ask your mother to check you over? Because I’m pretty sure you caught somethin’, Stevie.” Bucky says with a small smile. Steve tries to ignore the weird, jumpy warmth in his chest at the nickname and attempts to push himself up from where he’d slouched over onto his side on the couch. He’s _mostly_ successful.

“I’m-” he cuts himself off, head spinning as soon as he gets almost upright. He slouches back down a bit. “Okay,” he concedes quietly, after the dizziness stops, “I _may_ have caught something.” Bucky huffs out a breath and it manages to hit the side of Steve’s face. It makes him feel warmer, even with chills and fire alternating throughout him... _everywhere_.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Bucky says, gently sarcastic, and Steve looks up, trying on a grin and feeling only twelve percent successful. Bucky huffs another breath and leaves Steve’s field of vision for a minute, but comes back soon enough, pulling Steve’s cellphone out of Steve’s jeans pocket before laying a huge, warm, fuzzy blanket over him.

“ _Buck_ -” Steve tries. Fuck, it’s comfortable though.

“I’m just callin’ Sarah to let her know you’re stayin’ here for the night,” Bucky replies, bringing the dialing phone up to his ear. Steve frowns a little, but Bucky just smiles serenely back. “Yeah, Sarah, it’s Bucky,” Bucky says, turning away, and that’s the last thing Steve hears before he’s out again.

Bucky turns around after he hangs up with Sarah and just stands there for a minute watching Steve, warmth in his chest and worry in his gut.

He quietly sets Steve's cellphone on the table and heads for the kitchen, mouth pinching.


	8. It's you, it's you, it's all for you, everything I do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another dip into the past. I actually had this and the next past chapter written out weeks ago, but I wanted to alternate/lace them in between the present chapters so I've HAD TO SIT ON THEM FOR A WHILE UGH.

“So tell me...”

James glances over. She’s leaned over with her forearms braced on the metal railing, made cool by the water below and the gentle summer breeze, fingers dangling over the blue, and pale blonde ponytail swaying in that same breeze, eyes to the stars like she’s looking into the universe.

She looks over to him, and he thinks the universe looked back into her, like that old saying, “' _You look into the abyss, and the abyss looks back into you_ '.” Except there’s not blackness in her eyes, just the sky and the stars and light, light he never wants to see tame and so much else he’ll never have the words for.

“Which star is your favorite?” she asks, lips eased up just a little, just enough for a smile that reaches her eyes.

It’s been a year since he met her, and for the most part she’s gotten her accent coraled into something softer. It still comes out like the day he met her when she’s pissed as all hell, when she’s all fire and defiance and righteous fury. He thinks those times are his favorites.

James huffs out a breath, runs a hand through his slightly curled hair and leans on his own forearms on the railing next to her, water lapping between sharp and gentle against the cement below.

“Hmm…” he trails off, eyes on the sky, looking for one in particular until he spots it. “You see that blue one there?” he asks, pointing up with a finger.

She turns her head up, looking. It takes her a minute, but she finds it. “Yes.”

His lips quirk up a little. “That one’s my favorite,” he says, “Reminds me of you.”

Her feels her freeze for a moment and his heart picks up when he looks over to find her staring at him.

It’s been a year. He asked her out the second time they ran into each other, but she said, “ _James Barnes. I heard ‘bout you. They say ya have a girl with you every day’o th’week_ ,” hands on her hips and lips curved up a little like she couldn’t help herself. All he could say was, “ _Not ‘ny’more_.”

She’d paused then, then gave him a smile she meant, still with edges that said she couldn’t help herself.

She’s still never said yes, and he’s asked her dozens o’times. She’s said, “ _I ain’ fallin’ fo’it, James Barnes_ ,” and, “ _Why you keep askin’?_ ” He couldn’t quite get out the words for a response on that second one, and she’d left in an exasperated huff and a roll of her eyes. He’d wanted to follow, and kicked himself the whole way to the docks for not bein’ brave enough to tell her _why_.

She doesn’t say anything now, and he can’t quite bring himself to either. So they just look at each other, until she turns her head forward and her eyes back to the sky.

“James Barnes…” she trails off softy. His eyes still haven’t left the side of her face. “When you gon’ give up on me.”

“Never,” he says, quiet but strong, and her lips curve up something wistful, eyes still on the stars overhead. He thinks, maybe she knew the _why_ the whole time.

\--

“Sarah!” he calls out, and she stops with her friends: Maggy, a brunette in red on her left; Rita, dark blonde in purple on her right. They’re both lovely, but he’s only got eyes for Sarah, in her blue dress and light blonde hair and eyes bluer than the sky on a clear spring day, but full of fire he can’t ever get enough of.

“James,” she greets with a smile. He ignores the looks Maggy and Rita send his way while she’s not looking; the raised eyebrow at the grease he knows is on his cheek and hands, the eyes that skim down to the dirt on his shirts, pants, and shoes. He’s dirty, he’s always known it, but he can’t help it. Just like he can’t help her.

He loves her, no matter if she rejects him ‘till his voice has dried up and she’s sick’o him.

He’ll love her forever.

Her smile stretches a little wider like a shared secret, and his does the same.

\--

“James…” she trails off three months later, and James whips his head around from where he’s putting a crate together, a smile on his face until he catches sight of her pinched expression, the sadness in her bright blue eyes.

“Hey, Jack!” James calls over to the man working next to the warehouse next to the one James is at.

“ _Yeah!_ ” Jack calls back, catching sight of Sarah and waving a greeting. She waves back, she’s been down to visit him plenty of times, but James can see her smile is strained. He looks back over to Jack.

“Let Mack know I’m headin’ home?” he calls back over. Jack starts to protest. “I’m about squared for the day! I’ll come in earlier tomorrow and make it up, yeah?”

“ _Yeh, fine!_ ” Jack calls back, grinning as he makes shooing motions, “ _Go on, lover boy!_ ”

James shoots him a _look_ but smiles, putting the crate down and his tools away before pulling out the rag he keeps in his back pocket and wiping his hands off as he heads over to Sarah where she’s still got that pinched look on her face. “I’ll walk ya home?” he asks, heading over to her.

She hesitates, but nods, fingers twisting together in front of her dress. “Alright,” she agrees softly, turning to walk with him out of the docks.

They’re quiet for a while as they walk, his eyes ahead for the most part even though he can’t help glancing over, not just because the setting sun is lighting her up orange and gold. He looks back ahead and waits. She’ll tell him in time, even though he’s sure he’s not gonna wanna hear it, whatever it is. His stomach clenches, twisting in knots.

She lets out a huff of a sigh as they near the park, coming to a stop at its edge. He stops with her, both hands in his pockets.

“His name’s Joseph,” she says, firmer than he thinks she really is right now.

His stomach does a twist, but he was expecting it, so he just makes himself turn to look at her.

Her eyes are a little shiny, but there’s a defiant glint there and a line between her brows.

“We’ve been together since we was kids,” she continues after a moment, eyes dropping to the ground, “I came here with me- my ma and pa. A new land, a new start. Joseph couldn’t come, and we was- were both devastated. But I came on my own, and he had to stay. I didn’t think I’d see him again, even though he swore he’d come. We was- _were_ kids. Much as it was nice to believe, it’d been a year and I- I changed.” She looks back up at him, smiles a little in a bittersweet way that makes his stomach do a flip for a completely different reason, even though it’s foolish, because he knows where this is going.

“I-” she cuts off, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

He waits. He’s not going to interrupt her or put words in her mouth, ideas in her head. She’s her own person, and he respects her much too much to cut her off when she’s telling him her thoughts.

“I met ya, and I was...well,” she says, eyes shining more in the sinking light of the sun, voice a little wobbly.

His heart picks up in his chest, because as much as he’s never told her _why_ , and she ain’t told him nothin’ either, he...knows. They both do.

She doesn’t continue, so he finally lets himself talk.

“Is this what you want?” he asks quietly, watching her.

Her mouth pinches and her eyes widen a little, eyes dropping as her hands twist together. “I can’t- I can’t do it to’im, James. I can’t. I love’im. I do. I always have. We was sayin’ we was gon’ get married when we was jus’ kids. I shouldn’- It’d be wrong of me, changin’ my mind now and turnin’ him ‘way. _Even though I_ -’

But he does cut her off there, moving in close and tilting her head up with light fingers below her chin, pressing his lips to her forehead and squeezing his eyes shut, the sound of her breath catching burning itself into his mind.

She’s gone still, but starts relaxing just before he pulls his head back, looking down at her as she looks up in return, eyes wet and tears on the verge of spilling over. He smiles softly, his own eyes feelin’ a bit wet, too, and her mouth pinches down, lower lip wobbling. He must look more of a wreck than he thought, to make her look at him like that.

“It’s alright,” he near whispers. She shakes her head, pressing her lips together to try and keep her lip from trembling.

She opens her mouth but he cuts her off. It’s selfish, and so damn rude, but he can’t hear it. He could hear everything, anything else, but he can’t hear those words. He’s barely holdin’ himself up as it is.

“Yes, it is,” he reassures, smiling down at her gently, “An’ besides. Who says m’goin’ anywhere? I’ll still be here.”

Her tears finally spill over, eyes wide and bright, and he shifts his fingers up from below her chin to her cheeks, carefully and gently wiping away her tears, not gettin’ a speck’o dirt on her ivory skin.

They don’t say anything for a bit, her tryin’ to ease her hiccuping breaths and him trying to loosen the tightness of his throat. It’s an uphill battle, but he’s getting there, somehow.

She takes a longer breath and James braces himself for...he’s not sure. He’s not sure anything else could knock him down anymore than that.

She closes her eyes for a long moment and then looks up at him, the stars reflected in her eyes. He can feel his stinging all over again.

“When you gon’ give up on me, James?” she asks, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear her, probably wouldn’t if he weren’t listening so intently, holding his breath just for her.

His smile is slow, but it’s big and it’s real, and her own lips curve up with it, like she can’t help herself.

“Never,” he says, strong and a little quiet, but no less true.

Her smile stretches and his does too until they’re both grinning at each other like kids.

Joseph is a lucky man, but James will always have this.


	9. Free, love is free love is free. Why don’t you give it away? Why don’t you give it away.

"Looking forward to Thanksgiving?"

Bucky makes a noncommittal sound, but when Steve looks over he's practically grimacing.

"That bad, huh?" he asks.

Bucky glances over at him, then sighs after a moment. "Marian's going to ask me about my love life. _Again_ ," he says flatly, "And _Alexander_ is going to be there ask me about my 'future'." Steve frowns and Bucky rolls his eyes. "Trust me, it's worse than it sounds." They walk down the hall together for a minute before Bucky asks, "You and your ma doing anything?"

Steve shakes his head, trudging past getting bumped in the shoulder by a passing fellow member of the masses. "Nah, not really," he replies, "Probably the same thing we do every year. A small ham between the two of us."

"No turkey?" Bucky asks, sounding a little surprised.

Steve shakes his head, can see Bucky looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but Bucky lets it go.

"Turkey's overrated anyway," Bucky says, and Steve cracks a smile, a weight that has nothing to do with his breathing lifting off his chest.

\--

Steve unlocks the apartment door after his late shift at the theatre to the sound of coughing, shoves the door closed and drops his bag as he runs down the hall and skids to a stop between rooms, glancing quickly right then left before darting left into the kitchen.

He slows as he comes to a stop next where his mother is bent next to the counter, harsh coughs shaking her slim frame.

"Oh. Hello, Steve-" she gets out before she's coughing into her elbow again, right hand braced on the counter's edge.

Steve rushes to the cupboard and pulls out a glass, fills it with water before hurrying back over.

"Here," he says, offering it.

She takes it during a break between coughs and swallows some down, mouth pinching as she tries to hold in a few more, body jerking a little with them. "Thank you, sweetheart," she half murmurs-half rasps, eyes firmly closed as she takes a few more, slow sips.

"You alright?" he asks quietly, heart no longer beating ten miles a minute in his chest but still fast, fear in his heart and dread in his gut, just like every other time. He can't help thinking this is it, this will be the one that takes her away from him for good-

"I'm fine," she says, setting the glass on the counter and looking at him, "Check the fridge for me?"

He frowns a little but walks the short distance to it, pulling it open and peering in.

He straightens back up, grinning a little in surprise over at her. "You got it early," he says.

She smiles and nods. "I got it early," she confirms.

"But how-" he starts, brows drawing together.

"A pre-Black Friday sale," she says before he can finish, "It was one of the last ones, and it was the best of the ones there," she finishes triumphantly, standing up straighter.

Steve looks back into the fridge at the ham and the rest of their scarce, refrigerated food, and closes the door as he grins.

(He misses the small amount of blood in the bottom of the glass behind her).

(She succeeds in hiding it).

\--

"Are you doing anything for Thanksgiving?" Steve asks. Natasha quirks a brow.

"I'm not in the habit of celebrating mass murder," she replies, deadpan. Steve frowns and Bucky raises his own eyebrow.

"That's not why I like Thanksgiving," Steve says. Natasha takes a fry from Bucky while keeping her eyes on him.

She's still terrifying.

"I just like being with family," he says softer, "I see my ma often enough, but I don't know. It feels like for one day a few more people stop taking each other for granted."

"Like Christmas," Natasha says, head raised slightly.

Steve nods, and after a moment Natasha does too. They both turn to look at Bucky who raises his eyebrows back.

"Don't give me those stares," he says, gesturing at them with a few fries, "If I had my way, I'd demolish any occasion that I was forced into dinner with Marian and _Alexander_." He bites down on his fries almost viciously, frowning down at the half empty bucket in the middle of the three of them.

Steve frowns a little and looks over to Natasha, but she's already walking away.

\--

"So what else do we need to catch us up on," Bucky muses the day before their Thanksgiving Break starts as they turn onto the street that leads to his house. Steve hums in thought.

" _Snowpiercer_?" Steve suggests. Bucky makes a face at the name.

"Is it bloody?" he asks, eyes on the road as he takes a right at the open gate of the house's drive up.

Steve hums again. "It has its moments." He looks over and watches Bucky's profile.

Bucky grins. "Let's watch it," he says, and Steve grins back before Bucky's quickly disappears, straightening up in his seat as the car jerks to a sudden stop. "Shit," he says.

"What?" Steve asks urgently, looking out the front window for _whatever_ froze Bucky.

"He's here," Bucky says lowly, just as someone steps out of the house up ahead and waves in their direction, and it's then that Steve sees the other car parked in the front car park.

"Who?" Steve asks, as Bucky starts moving them up the drive again.

" _Alexander_ ," Bucky says flatly, mouth pinched and body stiff.

Steve looks over and Bucky glances at him briefly, then Steve looks back at the man slowly getting easier to make out the closer they get to the house and braces himself for someone he's probably going to want to punch in the face (or the kidney. Or both). Bucky never really talks about his adoptive father, and whenever he does it...well.

Bucky pulls his car up next to Alexander's.

"Is there anything I should be aware of?" Steve asks quietly as Bucky kills the engine.

Bucky frowns down at the center console for a moment before looking up at him.

"Just..." Bucky trails off, a worried line forming between his brow.

Steve waits but Bucky doesn’t say anything else, just opens his door and steps out, so Steve does too.

 _Alexander_ has graying blonde hair, blue eyes, and is wearing a tailored, light gray-blue vest over a smooth white dress shirt and pants, all of which look the kind of wasted expensive that could probably pay Steve’s rent for three years no problem.

But it's not so much the clothes that make Steve think that so much as how Alexander _comes off_ in them.

Bucky dresses nice all the time, and Steve’s only thought what he thinks of Alexander of Bucky once, and never again since getting to know him, but even then, Bucky's never radiated his charm in the same way Alexander does.

Bucky's charm is a comfortable warm. Even when he smiles at everyone, you can see in his eyes a part of him _means_ it.

Alexander reminds him of a lizard. Steve hasn’t even said a word to the man and he wants to take Bucky and _go_.

It could just be a residual effect of Bucky being tense in the car and in turn making _Steve_ tense, but Steve’s not so sure.

"James," Alexander greets when they reach the stairs, "And I see you brought a new friend."

If Alexander means that, that means Bucky's never mentioned Steve to him, either deliberately or something else.

Steve doesn’t say anything.

"Alexander," Bucky says formally as they come to a stop at the top of the stairs, "This is Steve. Steve, this is my adoptive father, Alexander Pierce."

Pierce doesn’t comment on the 'adoptive' part, and Steve notices Bucky feels the need to add it.

"Do I get a last name with that?" Pierce asks with a smile, holding his hand out to Steve.

"Rogers," Steve says, taking his hand and attempting to return a decent shake, "Steve Rogers."

"A pleasure to meet you, Steve Rogers," Pierce says, ending the shake with an inclination of his head, tilting it towards the front door as he turns towards it. "Why don't you come in. I'm sure you know the place by now," he says, leading the way.

Steve frowns a little, looking over to Bucky, but Bucky just stares straight ahead as he follows Pierce.

All things considered, it's not the _strangest_ meeting he's ever had.

(But for all that he's polite, something about the way Pierce talks and looks at him makes it one of the most _uncomfortable_. He can't quite put his finger on why).

\--

"Steve-" his mother gets out before a coughing fit, "Do you want to- Can you please get the ham out of-"

"On it," he says, shuffling his socks quickly along the cool tile floor as he makes his way to the oven, grabbing a potholder before pulling the oven door open.

He hears the faucet run for a moment while he sets the ham on the stove and reaches for a knife to cut off the foil.

His mother takes another swallow before clearing her throat. "Is it heated up enough?" she asks.

"Yyyyyyup," Steve draws out, leaning down to take a whiff of the hint of honey flavored steam wafting up from the meat. "Definitely ready," he announces, standing back up and smiling over at her (and checking her complexion, seeing how much water is gone from the glass).

"Well," she says mock primly, gesturing grandly with an arm towards their tiny kitchen table, "After you, my good sir," she continues, accent slipping out here and there.

"Why thank you, dear lady," Steve returns with a light bow, his own following suit.

They share a grin.

He has a best friend, a couple regular friends, he's slowly working on clearing his father's debts, and he's here with his mother.

He hasn't been this happy in a long time.

\--

" _Have you seen my keys?_ "

Steve searches through the kitchen while chewing on a bite of toast and pulls open the silverware drawer, pulling the keys out. "Got'em!" he calls back after swallowing, cramming the rest of his toast in his mouth as he closes the drawer.

"Oh," his mother lets out as she stops at the entryway to the kitchen, "Thank you, sweetheart."

Steve meets her at the entryway and passes them over, frowning a little. "You sure you should go today?" he asks, "You're pale."

His mother huffs a breath, raising a brow. "Now _who's_ the parent in this relationship?" Steve glances up with a hum and pretends to think about it and she lets out a small laugh. "Silly boy," she says, cupping his cheek with a hand and a soft smile. "I appreciate it. And I'll be fine," she says, leaning in to kiss his cheek before making her way to the door, "You have fun at school."

Steve gives a mock groan that gets him another laugh before he hears the front door close.

He does an electric slide across the tile and almost falls _and_ slides into the kitchen table.

Bucky's _definitely_ better at that than he is.

\--

Steve pulls out his headphones as he hikes up the hallway stairs, huffing out a breath when he finally reaches the top.

He looks around, but there's no sign of Bucky, so he waits.

He waits until he has to leave or be late to class.

\--

"So how was your Thanksgiving, Rogers?"

Steve grunts as he slumps forward under the sudden weight on his back, reaching back to pinch Tony on the side of the leg, let up and free with the sound of Tony yelping.

"It was good," he replies, "How was yours?"

Tony takes the seat next to him. "Oh, just had a dinner party with fifty people I didn't know who all wanted to kiss my ass," Tony replies, "The usual."

"I don't think Pepper wants to kiss your ass," Natasha says before Steve can reply, appearing out of nowhere right behind Tony and making Tony jump with another yelp.

"Romanoff!" he lets out, "I swear you're part _ninja_ ," he says, aiming accusing eyes in her direction.

Natasha shrugs like rolling water, taking Bucky's seat opposite Steve.

Steve frowns.

"Where's Bucky?" he asks, "I haven't seen him since Tuesday when-...When I met his father."

"Adoptive father," Natasha corrects while Tony says, "Ah yes, the dick. Speaking of ass kissing." Steve chokes on his own spit and Tony idly rubs his hand over his back in only the bare semblance of actually trying to help and more like he's a four year old trying to rub chalk into Steve’s jacket. "I saw him in Spanish, but he usually needs some time to himself after more than a day spent with _Mr. Pierce_."

Steve glances between Tony and Natasha, the latter of who is staring at Tony while Tony looks around the room. "Is he really that bad?" Steve asks. Tony glances over.

"Let's just say," Natasha says, drawing both their eyes to her, "No family is without its flaws."

Tony snorts. "Or major character defects."

Natasha spares him a brief look before rising from the table. "Give him time," she says, eyes on Steve, and then she's gone and Steve is left with Tony ( _why_ ) and a strange lilt in his stomach.

\--

Bucky's not there again in the morning, but he is there at lunch with a medium bucket of fries, as usual.

He's sitting like he usually is, too, eyes on his fries while he chews, but there's something stiff in the set of his shoulders that Steve’s artist's eye picks up and his expression is closed off in a way that Steve doesn’t like.

"Hey, Buck," he says, as he takes his now usual seat.

Bucky startles a little and his eyes jump up to Steve’s. He freezes for a moment, but then he relaxes, the tension easing a little ways out of his shoulders. "Hey, Steve," he returns, "Sorry I wasn't here yesterday. I wasn't feeling well."

Steve smiles and swipes the half eaten fries out from between Bucky's fingers, mostly for the look he gets. "That's alright, Buck," he says, "But I'll be taking these as compensation for making me sit with Tony by myself."

Bucky snorts a laugh, looking a little surprised that he did, and the rest of the tension eases away. "Brave guy like you can't handle _Tony?_ "

Steve mock-grimaces.

"He is more formidable than he appears," he says solemnly, eating the fries he stole and trying not dwell on the fact that Bucky's mouth was on them a minute ago.

Bucky laughs again, something about him looking almost relieved.

"I'll eat to that, " he says, both of them taking some fries out of the bucket and bumping them together like two glasses in a toast.

\--

Steve decides to not ask about Bucky's Thanksgiving. He figures with what Tony and Natasha had said, Bucky's reaction to Pierce being at the house, and his _own_ first impression of Pierce, it was probably better to keep it from becoming a topic of conversation. At least for now.

Besides, he's a little too preoccupied right now to _have_ a conversation.

"That all you got?" he taunts, wiping the back if a hand underneath his nose.

The guy in front of him snorts, Steve’s blood coating his knuckles while the guy's friend leans against the back of the building with his arms crossed, a spectator.

"You got a death wish, kid," the first guy says, grinning something nasty, "Fortunately for you, I can meet that demand with _supply_."

Now it's Steve’s turn to snort, and it stings all the way up into his face.

He hopes his nose isn't broken.

"I'm surprised you can figure out supply and demand when you can't seem to understand a girl sayin' no to your _face_ ," he snips back.

The guy's smile twists into something angry while his friend shifts against the wall.

"Yeah," the guys says, "I can meet out that death wish," and pulls his fist back.

\--

Bucky strolls into the diner he and Steve frequent (well, originally Steve, now Bucky tags along) and looks around.

"Have a sea- Oh, hey Bucky."

Bucky's eyes land on Anne, all auburn side braids and the diner's red, fifties poodle skirt.

"You seen Steve?" he asks, "He was supposed to meet me-"

Anne jerks a thumb behind her with a concerned frown and Bucky makes a run for the back door without another word, holding in a sigh.

It's not that he’s got a problem with the fighting, every one of the jerks he's run into that Steve picks a bone with have deserved it and then some, it's just that-

" _So...How long has Steve Rogers been coming over?"_

_"It's not like that," Bucky says immediately._

_Alexander raises an eyebrow._

_"I never said it was," he replies, and Bucky knows he walked right into that trap._

Bucky passes the diner cooks with a short wave and gets a few back and gets the back door open just in time to hear a (light) body hit the ground and doesn’t think, just runs and aims for the guy pulling back his leg for a kick at Steve on the ground-

" _But if it was..." Pierce says, taking a few steps closer, "Well," he stops, bringing up and resting a hand on Bucky's shoulder that makes him go completely still._

He spins the guy around and punches him hard across the face, enough that he staggers to the side and falls on his ass.

Steve’s on the ground, Steve-

A hand grabs his shoulder and he freezes for a second before grabbing it and twisting _hard_ , the pained yell barely registering because-

" _You remember what happened last time." Not a question._

_Bucky nods, staring just above Alexander's left shoulder, because eye contact isn’t permitted at times like these._

_"Good," Alexander says, squeezing his shoulder once before letting go, "We wouldn't want a repeat of that, now would we."_

_Bucky shakes his head and Alexander pats his arm before heading for the stairs. "It was nice to meet you, Steve," he says on his way past the living room, and Bucky jolts slightly when he hears Steve say, "You, too, Mr. Pierce."_

_He takes a slow breath and closes his eyes, rolling his neck and unclenching his fingers before opening his eyes back up and heading for the living room._

"Bucky. _Buck_."

He blinks and the two guys are gone and Steve’s in front of him, holding his own arm with a hand and looking at Bucky with the eye that isn't working on swelling shut, blood on his lower lip and down his nose.

"You in there, Buck?" Steve asks, and Bucky stares at him a moment before taking a step forward.

Steve doesn’t move away.

He opens his mouth to ask if _Steve’s_ okay, but, well.

He drops his eyes to his hands briefly before lowering them all the way to his sides. "Let's get you home," he says instead.

Steve looks at him for a moment like he wants to argue, but he nods and limps over to Bucky, and lets Bucky help him down the back street, Bucky trying to keep the blood from the guys on his fists off of Steve the whole way.

\--

Steve gets his apartment door unlocked and Bucky shoos Steve on ahead while he locks it behind himself, following Steve down the hall to the bathroom straight ahead at the end of it.

Steve turns the faucet on when Bucky gets there and reaches for his hands, and it shouldn't surprise Bucky, but it does. Not so much that Steve’s helping him first, but that he’s willing to touch Bucky _at all_ when he just...

"I've never done that before," he finds himself saying. Steve looks up from checking Bucky's hands and just looks at him.

"You going to be okay?" Steve asks, quiet, like Bucky's made of cracking glass and a higher volume will shatter him and bring him crashing to the ground.

Bucky bursts out a laugh, a little twisted and hollow. "Me?" he asks, "What about _them?_ Or-" he cuts himself off, swallowing the words down.

Steve quirks his lips without humor and with a wince, looking back down at Bucky's hands as he steers them to under the water, washing them off, _gently_.

It makes Bucky hate himself _more_ , a swirling, uncomfortable knot growing in his gut.

"I'll be fine, Buck," Steve says, steering his hands out of the water.

Bucky wants to argue, but he already knows where that will lead and he's not in the mood for a fight, not anymore.

Steve shuts the water off to grab a wad of toilet paper before turning it back on and getting the toilet paper wet, shutting it off again before he starts dabbing at his own face in the mirror, wincing every time.

Bucky stands there numbly, hands still half raised and dripping, watching him, before finally letting out a quiet sigh and drying his hands off on the nearest towel before grabbing some toilet paper of his own, getting it wet before dabbing gently at the other side of Steve’s face.

Steve frowns a little, wincing again. "I can do it by myself, Buck," he half mumbles, wiping at the dried blood under his nose.

"I know," Bucky replies quietly, reaching up with his other hand to tilt Steve’s face up and towards him with fingers under his chin, "But you don't _have_ to."

Steve huffs out a breath that hits his chin and his fingers twitch, but he tries to force them still.

"Thanks," Steve says softly, Steve’s one good eye looking up into his. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," Bucky says after a moment, moving the toilet paper from Steve’s face to get a look.

His fingers twitch.

He wants to-

His breath catches and he yanks his hands back, leaning around Steve quickly to toss the toilet paper into the trash. "Are _you_ good?" he asks, not looking at Steve.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve says, sounding a little confused, maybe even a little _flustered_ \- "I'll be fine."

Bucky nods. "I should...I should go," he says quietly, turning and heading back down the hall towards the door.

" _Buck?_ " he hears Steve call after him, and he wants to turn around, but-

He closes the apartment door behind him and picks his pace up to a run, making his way down the jagged stairs before running to the nearest street, trying to get out of sight in case Steve opens his door and tries to find him, feeling like a _coward_.

And he wants Steve to find him. He wants to grab Steve’s hips in his hands ( _and they'd be sharp and soft edged all at once, like Steve_ ) and kiss him until he’s breathless and he _**can’t want that**_ -

So instead he runs, and tries to force his mind and dangerous thoughts into silence.


	10. I cried, never gonna hold the hand of another guy. Our love will never end, waiting for the soldier to come back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually cried writing this and again reading it over
> 
> MUSIC (goes with the chapter): https://play.spotify.com/user/shaisht/playlist/0FaemdRDGPNknEDwTTWpI6

He meets Joseph. Shakes his hand with a smile that only feels a little forced while Sarah watches from Joseph’s side, eyes a little sad but a smile on her face.

Joseph’s grip is strong and firm and James matches him for both, and keeps his eyes on Joseph instead of on Sarah. It’s hard, but he manages, knows her gaze would catch on his and slide away like reluctant water if he were to look, and he doesn’t want that.

James and Sarah are both better pretenders than James would’a given’em credit for.

\--

He starts datin’ a pretty, long haired brunette named Winifred just before he gets invited to Sarah and Joseph’s wedding. She’s got brown eyes like melted chocolate left in sunlight and skin near soft as velvet. When she laughs it’s like the soft notes of a guitar ringing out into the afternoon air, and he thinks he might be a little in love with her already.

They sit together in the church and he watches Sarah and Joseph give their vows. His heart clenches like a vice, but he doesn’t let it travel down to where he’s holding Winifred’s hand.

\--

He and Winifred get married two months later, Sarah and Joseph’s eyes on them from the pews. During his vows, his voice goes the kind of soft it did when he talked to Sarah in the park, and he knows she’s watching him more intently now, thinks the prickle on the side of his face is just from her stare alone.

He manages not to look over until after, to keep his eyes on Winifred (and he does love her, he does, but-)

Sarah’s watching him, eyes soft and wet and lips pulled up just enough.

It’s still one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do.

\--

“Oh! Hello, James.”

He turns and finds Sarah standing behind him in the small market isle, an old wired basket hanging on her left arm and the sides of her hair pulled into a clip at the back, pale yellow trailing down past her shoulders. His breath catches in his throat, but he doesn’t think that’ll ever stop happening with her.

“Sarah,” he returns, lips pulling up of their own accord.

He doesn’t think that’ll ever stop happening with her either.

She smiles, and it’s a little hesitant at first but then more confident when his own stretches wide. He hasn’t seen her in months. He’s missed her.

“How ya been?” he asks, shifting his own wired basket to his other arm. Her smiles softens, but is no less genuine.

“I’ve been good,” she says, shifting her arms a little closer in to herself, gold wedding band flashing in the light with it. “Started working as a nurse two months ago at the local hospital. It’s been keeping me busy, but it’s good.”

“Pays the bills too, yeah?” he asks with a playful smirk.

She laughs quietly and it still hits him right in the heart, warms him up something fierce. “Yes,” she says. “What have you been up to?” His smile lessens a bit and hers does too, eyes going a little worried. “James?”

He keeps his lips quirked up, but turns towards the shelf at his left to grab a few cans of beans as he speaks. “I enlisted,” he says calmly, hears her breath catch, “I’ll be shippin’ out soon.” He turns to look at her after a moment when she doesn’t say anything, finds her right hand over her mouth and her eyes wide, on him. He keeps the smile on his face, but looks down at his basket. “I should-”

She reaches forward, faster than he’s seen in a while, and grabs his arm, grip tighter than one would think it could be by just lookin’ at her. But he thinks he’s always known that. That she’s stronger than anyone ever really gives her credit for.

His eyes dart up. Her own shine in the afternoon light coming through the shop’s windows, just barely reachin’ the isle they’re in, and her eyes still look like a universe all on their own.

“James,” she says, softer than her grip and softer than the look on her face, voice quiet and shaky.

She doesn’t say anything else and he doesn’t either, just reaches up with his left hand to lay it over the top of hers, gripping it gentle but firm.

Her fingers tighten against his arm, dig a bit into his sleeve.

He smiles again, softer, just for her, and she blinks rapidly a few times.

He leaves the shop a few minutes later, before she does, gives her the moment of privacy she needs to collect herself and pay for her things.

He swallows past the lump that started forming in his throat with the first step he took away from her and tries to keep ignoring the pull he feels to go back and wrap her up in his arms, run away with her somewhere, anywhere, as long as it’s just them and he doesn’t have to leave her, maybe for good.

\--

James Buchanan Barnes is born while James is at Basic Training on March 10.

When James first sees him, a part of his world goes bright that he didn’t know could.

When he first holds him, quieter than he’s ever seen a babe be and eyes bluer than his and not brown at all like his ma’s, all fragile and small and a bundle of warmth in his arms, against his chest, his heart feels like it picks up, pounds and slows all at once, and he doesn’t realize he’s grinning until his son flails his little arms at him, all baby sounds and a toothless grin.

Wini tells him Sarah’s expectin’ her own in a few months and James just grins wider, says he’s happy for her, and he means it.

He ships out for more training after a month, runs into Sarah again once, and takes a photo of his son with him.

\--

He’s back home for a few days before he’s going to be shipped off to the war, and he spends it with his son and Wini.

He dances around the room with the tiny bundle in his arms, holds him up high and makes his son laugh. Blows bubbles in his face that makes his son go cross eyed and giggle while waving his little arms.

He gets up at some ungodly hour of the morning to rock his son gently when he starts cryin’ and can’t sleep, let’s Wini take her much needed rest while she can.

He thinks of Sarah sometimes, in the early hours, thinks of her walking through his son’s bedroom door while he’s rockin’ him back and forth to whisper sweet nothings to them both and sing them a lullaby, and only feels a little bad for his wife.

He loves his wife, he does, but-

\--

He puts his hat on, the final touch, and looks at himself in the mirror, dressed to the nines in a uniform that’s probably going to become the dirtiest thing he’s ever worn, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.

“You want me to walk with you?” he hears softly from behind him, catches Wini’s reflection in the mirror just before turning around.

“Nah,” he says with a smile, walking over to where she’s standing next to the door in a vanilla colored dress, soft, dark, long curls cascading over one shoulder, away from their son’s face where she’s holding him in her arms, the ends of her hair brushing over his feet wrapped in soft blankets.

James stops in front of her, leans down as he cups the back of his son’s head with a careful hand to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, tries to will the sting in his eyes away as he stands back up and presses one to Wini’s forehead, too.

“I wanna see some of my old haunts before I head out,” he says, doesn’t say why. He doesn’t have to.

She smiles at him, something sad and aching and gentle, and it hits him in the chest but he keeps his smile on, leans down to meet her for a soft, desperate kiss.

“You be good for ya ma,” he says, looking down at the bundle in her arms.

She gives a soft, watery laugh. “He’ll be a good boy,” she says gently, looking down at him too before looking back up after a moment, smile frayed at the edges, “Just like his father.”

“ _Ha_ ,” he lets out, laughing with her when she does, “I ain’t a good boy, Wini.” She rolls her eyes, smiling.

“Mmhmm. James Steven Barnes, the baddest boy in Brooklyn,” she teases.

He grins. “You’re da- darn right,” he stumbles, eyes darting down to his son, a little wide. He’s been tryin’ to stop swearin’ in front’o’im. It’s unbelievably hard. But he’s been tryin’.

She laughs again, something livelier this time, happier, and it makes him smile.

He kisses her at the door and his son’s forehead one more time and heads out, looking back once and giving a wave.

Wini waves back and watches him walk down the street until they can no longer see each other, and he slips his hands in his pockets and whistles as he heads to all of his places.

\--

He grips the rail above the water in a relaxed grip, a gentle breeze nudging at his hat and the water lapping the cement around its perimeter below, buoys bright and bobbing slightly in the sun in the distance, past the docks and the lines of trees curved along the walk to his left.

“James Steven Barnes,” he hears behind him, strong and stern. He grips the railing tighter, but relaxes it after a moment. “Were you going to leave without seeing me?”

He keeps his back turned but puts on a smile so she’ll hear it in his voice.

“And how could I ever think’a doin’ that?” he asks, letting himself actually relax when he sees elegant, ivory fingers rest on the old railing half a foot away from his.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, mock innocently, “I know Winifred thinks you hung the moon, but I know better.”

He lets out a laugh.

“Ya don’t think I hung the moon?” he asks, finally lookin’ over at her with a cocky grin.

Sarah rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling back with a look in her eyes that says she does.

He swallows once and looks back out at the water, sees her shift to do the same. He turns back after a couple of minutes of them just watching the water, the buoys far out and the occasional seagull.

“Sarah,” he says seriously, turning fully towards her, and she turns too, looks up at him. His eyes drop down to her stomach briefly before going back to her eyes and he tries to keep a straight face, lips twitching a little as he says, “You look like yer ‘bout ready to burst.”

She lets out an offended sound and shoves at him, and he finally lets out his laugh, shaking with it. She crosses her arms, turning her head to the side, bangs flopping gently with the quick movement and hair trailing down a shoulder. “Some gentleman you are,” she says haughtily, but he sees her trying to keep her lips from curving up.

He reaches forward to grip her elbows, turning her a little towards him as he smiles, all charm and suave. “Darlin’, I could sweep ya off yer feet and show ya the stars.”

She snorts inelegantly, just like the rebellious woman he met years ago, and he finds himself grinning for a moment before it fades, grips on her elbows gentling.

“Wini thinks I’m a good man,” he says quieter, and she turns her head back to look up at him, all the play gone at the tone of his voice. He looks down at her for a long moment, at all the stars still trapped in her eyes with the sun and the moon. He teases about hanging the moon, but she’s the one who did it for _him_. “I love my wife,” he starts, pausing for a moment, “ _I love my wife_ ,” he repeats more firmly, “But there’s always been another, before her, more than her, even now.” She stiffens. “I’m not a good man, Sarah.”

She relaxes after a moment, eyes focused on his eyes, scanning over his face. “James,” she says softly, and he swallows again, fingers tightening on her elbows briefly before he slides his hands away.

Hers catch his before they get too far and he freezes, turns his hands after a moment to return the grip she’s got on his, fragile but no less strong for the slender bones beneath his fingers. “Run away with me,” he finds himself saying, sounding like he’s sixteen all over again. She stares up at him, eyes widened a little. “Run away with me, Sarah,” he says quieter, but no less earnest.

Her eyes drop to their hands and she shifts them, twining their fingers together. “We’d sleep under the stars,” she says quietly after a minute, looking back up at him, eyes shinier than they were a minute ago.

He smiles, trying to blink past the sting in his own. “We’d sleep under the stars,” he confirms with a small nod, looking down at their hands, “We’d raise your-”

“Steven,” she cuts in softly, and he stops, eyes darting back up to hers, wide. She smiles a watery smile, but also so warm. “His name is going to be Steven.”

He chokes back a sound, eyes dropping back to their hands. He reaches one up to wipe at his eyes with the back of a hand, not letting go of hers to do so. She doesn’t either. He sniffs once.

“We’d raise Steven together, with James,” he manages to say, and when he looks up he sees her eyebrow raised and gives a shaky laugh. “I know, I know,” he says, sharing a smile with her before looking back down at their hands, focusing on the bruise he sees circled around her wrist. He lifts their hands up and presses a kiss to it, listening to her breath catch.

He knows about Joseph’s temper, how reclusive he’s gettin’. James beat some sense into him after the first time he saw Sarah with a shiner and she said she still wouldn’t leave him. The beating’s kept Joseph in line, he hasn’t hit her like that again, but it’s not...it’s not perfect, and she won’t let him do much else.

God, she deserves so much better, even if it’s not _him_.

“Steve and James will play together,” she says quietly, after a moment, dragging him out of his thoughts.

He snorts quietly, grinning a little. “They’ll be the best of friends,” he adds, just as quiet, a smile tugging up his lips even as his vision blurs a little. “They’ll look after each other. Keep each other out of trouble.”

“Or get each other _into_ it,” she mutters, sounding knowing.

He laughs again and she joins in, fingers tightening in his when he grips hers a little more. “We’ll grow old together,” he continues, looking back up at her, sees the tears building in her eyes. He smiles gently, feels them in his own. “They’ll grow up together, free of all our hassles.”

“And we’ll live happily ever after?” she asks, quieter, voice shaky.

He nods once, smile stretching a little further. “Yeah,” he confirms, “We’ll live happily ever after.” Her hands tighten again in his and he just stares at her for a long moment, taking in her pale blonde hair, her bright blue, watery eyes, her stomach that really _does_ look like she’s about ready to burst at any moment, not hidden any by her pale blue dress and jacket.

He absorbs the feeling of her soft skin in his, so much softer than his has been since he was twelve years old, the feel of a sliver of metal against his skin. If he tries, he can pretend their rings go together, instead of apart.

He leans forward after a moment, pulling her closer by their hands as he does, and she lets him, moves in close, hands pulled up in the small space between them like they’re giving their vows. He lowers his head and brings his lips to her ear, cheek brushing hers. “I love you,” he says softly in her ear, the only vow he’s ever needed to give, and swallows when he hears her make a quiet, choked off sound.

He starts to lean back but she tightens her grip on his hands and he holds still, feels her face shift a little against the side of his before-

“I love you,” she says, just as soft, a vow of her own, and his tears finally spill over, closing his eyes. It feels like he’s been trapped and freed all at once. Finally.

He pulls back and sees tears streaming down her face, too, lets go of one of her hands to reach up and wipe them away. He feels her hand grip his jacket sleeve tightly, bunching up the fabric against his arm. He lowers his head again and presses his lips to the corner of her eye, listens to her hold back a sob and feels her grip his sleeve tighter. He tries to swallow past his throat closing up. It’s hard.

She shifts up as he starts to pull back and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth, and he holds still, letting his eyes fall closed again for a long minute.

He pulls back when she does, looking down at her, and she looks back, letting go of his sleeve to reach up and wipe his tears away. He lets his eyes close as she does, absorbing the feel of her skin on his and biting the inside of his cheek.

He opens his eyes after another moment and smiles, something just for her, and she smiles back, both watery and both warm. She moves in closer and he leans down, resting his forehead against hers and looking into the universe of her eyes. The one he willingly let swallow him up the day they met. And he doesn’t think about his wife, her husband, his son, hers. He just thinks about Little Sarah Rogers, how she changed his life and made him want to be a better person, and doesn’t tell her that’s why he enlisted.

Because it was the right thing to do, and that’s what Sarah Rogers _is_.

 _The right thing_.

\--

She hears about James from Winifred a month later, who approaches her with James’ son in her arms and eyes red, halfway home and on the sidewalk outside a store selling cigars.

She manages to keep her shattered pieces together until she gets home where she lets herself break down when she’s alone, lets herself cry wracking sobs while Joseph’s at work and she’s in Steven’s nursery, sunlight streaming in through the window and lighting her hair up the kind of gold James said reminded him of Spring.

She doesn’t muffle her sobs, lets herself make all the sounds she’d been holding back, and feels her heart break, feels a large chunk the shape of James steal her breath away like the man it belonged to always had.

\--

Steven Grant Rogers is born three days later on July 4th. He’s small and his body is weak, but he’s a fighter, just like her. She thinks James would be proud of them both, whether Steven was actually his own son or not, and she cries with a smile on her face when they finally let her hold him in her arms, Joseph a stressed and smiling wreck at her side.

She loves her husband, even through all his faults, but-

But there’s always been another, after him, more than him, even now, a man who loved her no matter what.

His name was James Steven Barnes, and he held her universe in his eyes.


	11. And the world turned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part one.

“Has Bucky been acting weird to you?”

Natasha looks up from her painting, eyes flat and expression nonexistent and he immediately regrets his feet ever taking him over to her little work area.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, “I’m shit. I know. I should know better. I’ll just...I’m going,” he starts backing up but stops at her sigh and, “Wait.” He retraces his steps when she sets her paintbrush down and turns to face him, sitting up straighter and rotating her neck, working out a kink.

“Now, what is it you were asking?” she asks, eyes not quite as flat. He lets out a breath.

“It’s just...Ever since last week he’s been acting... _weird_ ,” Steve repeats, not sure how to word it. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow and he struggles to think. “Whenever we’re in each other’s space, he gets all…” he waves a hand horizontally in the air and she raises her other eyebrow a little, “Um…” he stops, lowering his hand. “I don’t know. He _smiles_ , but it’s this...weird, formal, _strained_ smile. It’s not...like it was,” he trails off, quieter, shoulders hunching in a little. 

Natasha crosses her arms. “When did this start?”

“After a fight,” he answers promptly, adding quickly when her other eyebrow goes higher, “Not between us. I got in a fight, Bucky showed up, but he was...Nat,” he says more seriously, “He was real angry.”

She gives him a flat look.

“No, I mean-” he cuts himself off, eyes dropping to the floor and face scrunching up while he thinks. It should probably worry him that he can talk to her without her saying much of anything. He looks back up. “He was _really_ angry. I’ve never seen him like that before,” he says quietly, “Like he checked out. And since then, he’s joined in a fight or two, but he’s...It’s like he’s not _in_ there when he does it, and after he won’t look me in the eye. Actually,” he realizes, “He hasn’t really looked me in the eye since last week, either. Nat, he’s scaring the shit out of me.” And it takes a lot to admit that, that he might need _help_.

Natasha’s eyes shift to the side for a long moment and he ignores the light flashing in the far corner out the window to his left, ignores the sounds of other students scuffing back their chairs and gathering their things and chattering while they leave.

She turns back to her painting. “I’ll talk to him,” she says.

“Thank you,” is all he can really say to that, shifting on his feet for a moment before turning when she picks up her paintbrush. He feels like shit, telling _her_ when he feels like he should be telling _Bucky_.

But he’s not sure he _can_ tell Bucky that, is worried that it’s too much, crossing a line-

He’s not sure _what_ to do.

Steve gathers his things and heads out.

\--

“You look sad, sweetheart,” he hears, and lifts his head up to find his mother standing in his doorway, hand on the doorframe. He twists on his bed and sits up, getting up and walking over to her.

“I’m fine,” he says, and she gives him a _look_ , raised eyebrow and crossed arms and all, every inch the disbelieving mother. Steve ducks his head. “I’m just...worried about Bucky.”

“Is something wrong?” she asks, concern in her voice. He shrugs his shoulders and looks up and then to the side.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, feeling helpless and _hating_ it, “I don’t know what to do.” Especially since he’s pretty sure he…

It’s quiet for a moment.

“Do you want to talk?” she asks, softer. He shakes his head and looks back to her, trying to smile. Her eyebrows are drawn together, concerned, but she nods once and turns to head back down the hall. “I have to head to work, but there’s dinner in the fridge.”

“Okay,” he says, following her down and walking her to the door.

“Be back in a while,” she says, tying an old scarf around her neck. He’s pretty sure it lined his _crib_ , at one point.

“Be careful,” he replies, holding the door open as she walks out, hand on the side of it.

“I will,” she says, smiling softly, “And sweetheart?” He raises his head a little. “Try not to worry so much,” she says, “And if you can’t, talk with Bucky. You won’t know what’s wrong unless you do.” He smiles a little and nods, and watches her walk down past the corner like always before closing the door.

Steve blows out a breath, leaning his back against the door for a moment before pushes himself off of it and heads into the kitchen.

\--

Steve manages to find Bucky at school the next day. It’s been getting harder and harder to do, or Bucky always has a reason Steve can’t come over or he can’t come over to Steve’s, or he has somewhere he needs to be so they don’t talk long in the halls. Steve’s not dumb, he knows the signs of someone pulling away, but he thought-

He’s just turned a corner, late for class, when he spots Bucky and Tony halfway down the nearly deserted hall, and he freezes before backing up quickly, out of sight. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but-

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you haven’t even taken out a girl for a _dance_.”

“ _Tony._ ”

“Not since you started hanging out with Rogers.”

Steve’s heart beats faster.

A sigh. “Since you won’t _leave this alone_. I’m straight, Tony. I’d never date a guy.”

A gasp. “I’m hurt Barnes. I thought we had something _special_.”

Steve’s heart is in his throat. He’s about to leave when he hears Tony say more seriously-

“You should quit deluding yourself.”

Bucky’s voice goes sharp. “What does that mean.”

A pause. “For all that people say _I’m_ terrible when it comes to relationships, I think you take the cake. I still never let them decide who I will or won’t see.” Another pause, quieter: “And for all that _my_ dad had a leash on me, I never let him decide _that_.”

Steve hears footsteps and then when they’re gone, a sigh, before more footsteps.

Has Bucky been avoiding him because he-

Steve ends up being late to his class.

\--

Steve’s halfway through his noodles the next night when there’s a knock at the door, and he frowns, glancing up at the old clock before pushing himself up and going to the door, unlocking it and opening it a crack to see who it is.

“ _Bucky_ ,” he says, surprised, and opens it wider. 

Bucky’s standing on the other side, eyes on the floor in a denim jacket and jeans, which is _weird_ , a white tanktop underneath, covered in a light sweat. There’s some wraps spilling out of a pocket. 

Steve forces his eyes back up, shivering a little at the cool air and something else he doesn’t want to put a name to.

“Do you wanna come in?” he asks, opening the door a little wider. Bucky hesitates, which makes Steve frown a little again, before stepping in just enough for Steve to close the door behind him, but not any farther. “Buck?” he asks after a minute of silence, worry churning in his gut and heart beat picking up.

“I…” Bucky trails off, barely audible, eyes glued to the floor. 

Steve waits what feels like another few minutes, and is about to ask what’s wrong when Bucky goes on.

“I can’t see you anymore,” he blurts. Steve blinks, freezing where he stands.

“What?” he asks a little dumbly.

“I can’t...I can’t see you anymore,” Bucky says, quieter, “I shouldn’t...”

Steve tries to slow his heartbeat, anger coiling. “Is this because of Pierce?”

Bucky’s face goes a shade of white Steve doesn’t like, eyes widening a little before Steve watches him swallow and shake his head quickly.

“No, I-...It’s me. I _can’t-_... _I just can’t_ ,” he forces out. Steve glances down, watches Bucky’s fingers curl into fists. He still hasn’t looked at Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve says, quieter, swallowing, “I don’t know what’s wrong or what I did, or if it was someone _else_ , but I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

Bucky gives a harsh, hollow little laugh before strangling it and Steve’s eyes widen a little, worry rising again. Against his better judgement, Steve takes a step forward. Bucky flinches slightly, but doesn’t move, so Steve steps in closer, ducking his head to try and look at him. 

“Buck,” he says, softer, “I don’t...I don’t know what to do,” he admits, swallowing, “But you know I’m here, right? If you need me.”

Bucky’s face screws up slightly like he’s in pain and he bites his lip, eyes still avoiding Steve’s for another minute before he finally looks at him. Steve’s breath tries getting clogged in his throat, heart beating rapid in his chest. 

Bucky’s eyes are always so blue, even when he’s got tears in them.

“Buck…” Steve says, quiet like he’s talking to a spooked animal, and he reaches up with a hand to brush Bucky’s bangs back. Bucky’s hand snaps up and snatches Steve’s wrist and Steve jumps, surprised, but holds himself still, Bucky’s wide eyes on his.

“Steve, I-” Bucky starts, and then Bucky takes a step forward and Steve can’t hear anything over the sound of the _rushing_ in his ears because Bucky’s lips are on his-

And Steve stares at Bucky’s face for a moment, at the expression on it, caught somewhere between pained and relieved, his closed eyes, and Steve closes his own-

And then Bucky’s gone and the door’s opening-

“Bucky, wait!” Steve snaps out of it, reaching out and grabbing Bucky’s sleeve before he can get out the door all the way.

“This was a stupid idea,” he hears Bucky say, quiet and vicious to himself, and then Bucky half turns back and his expression is _mean_. Steve’s fingers twitch against the denim. He’s never seen- 

“We’re not friends anymore,” Bucky says flatly, yanking his sleeve out of Steve’s grip, “Don’t talk to me again.” 

Steve just stares at him, everything suddenly quiet, and Bucky’s expression goes slightly pained before he’s walking out the door and turning right-

And Steve means to follow, he does, but he can’t get enough air into his lungs, is vaguely aware that he’s pretty sure he’s not breathing, and by the time he manages to get a gasp of air in, his face is frozen from the cold and Bucky’s gone when he looks down the walkway, not there when next he looks over the railing.

Bucky’s just gone.

\--

Steve’s tempted to cry that night, be he holds it off, manages a small, strained smile when his mother comes home, who frowns, but he makes it until the next day. 

He needs to see Bucky, needs to _talk_ to him-

Bucky’s not at school.

Steve tries the next day.

Bucky’s not there, either, so he goes to find Natasha. He _needs_ to talk to Bucky.

But Natasha’s gone too.

So he finds Tony in one of the empty labs after school.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve demands, losing his patience and worried sick. It’s been _three days_ , and Bucky hasn’t answered his phone, his texts, his calls, _or_ his voicemails. 

Tony jumps about half a foot in the air and lets out a curse when the liquid in the beaker he was drip-dropping something into goes up in a dark _puff_ of smoke, coughing as he waves a hand quickly in front of his face. “ _Great_ ,” he says, “That took me _four hours_ to get the temperature right on-”

“ _Where’s_ _**Bucky**_ ,” Steve repeats, stalking forward. Tony’s head whips around and his eyes widen a little, throwing his hands up.

“I thought he told you,” he says, and Steve stops, dread curling low.

“Told me what,” he says, voice sounding scratchy and hollow to his own ears.

“He and Nat transferred to some _prestigious_ school in Russia,” Tony says, shrugging with a frown, “Real sudden, too. M’gonna miss my second partner in crime,” Tony laments, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand after a moment, looking at Steve. “I thought he told you,” he says, brows pulling together above his glasses and below his safety goggles, sitting back up, “You two were practically joined at the hips. _Lovebirds_ ,” he teases, smirk falling when Steve doesn’t react. “Rogers?” he asks, and Steve’s aware that his breathing is shallow, can hear the worry in Tony’s voice, but he _can’t **breathe**_ -

He thought-

“ _Steve? **Steve!**_ ”

The world goes dark.

\--

The first thing he’s aware of is something brushing his bangs back, slow and gentle. 

He doesn’t want to open his eyes, but can’t remember why-

Oh.

Bucky’s gone.

Steve cracks his eyes open.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his mother says, soft and quiet like a light breeze in summer, looking down at him with gentle eyes. 

He feels his own start to tear up.

“Ma,” he says quietly, voice cracking, “ _Bucky’s gone_.” Her lips tug down a little and she runs her fingers back through his hair. “I think I-” The tears spill over and he squeezes his eyes shut, bringing a hand up to cover them. He feels light, thin lips press a gentle kiss to his forehead after a moment, her fingers pausing for it.

“I know,” she says gently, and he drags his hand down his face, blinking a little up at her.

“ _You know?_ ” he asks, surprised, even though it doesn’t really matter now.

She smiles a little, soft. “Of course I know. I’m your mother.” He chokes out a quiet laugh that turns into a sob and she leans down and wraps her arms around him. He meets her half way and clings back with his own, as much as he dares.

They stay like that for a few minutes, and when she pulls back, he sits up and realizes they’re in the school’s nurse’s office. He flushes a little, for fainting, for his mother having to take time out of _work_ , but can’t manage more shame than that right now. He’s just…

It feels like there’s a vice on his heart with a weight attached to it trying to choke him down. He feels worn out in ways he hasn’t felt before.

Steve feels fingers in his hair again and looks up.

“First loves are hard,” his mother says, face solemn, drawing her hand down behind his head and brushing her thumb gently over the small heart design tattooed behind his left ear, “But I don’t ever want you to close your heart. There’s so much in the world, Steve. I want you to know that.” Steve rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, sniffling.

“Does it ever stop hurting this much?” he asks, almost a whisper. Her expression softens again.

“In time,” she says gently, pulling her hand back, “Sometimes it feels like just yesterday. But most of the time, after a while…” she trails off, eyes going a little distant. He wonders for a moment if she’s thinking about his dad.

Her eyes refocus back on him and she smiles a little and stands up, holding a hand down to him. He takes it, gets to his feet.

“Let’s go home,” she says softly. He freezes then frowns, looking at her.

“What about your work?” he asks, and it’s not much right now, but some worry _does_ manage to curl below his chest, since the ache in his heart has taken up that vicinity, can feel it’s tendrils trying to stretch and reach across every inch of him.

“I’ve taken the day off,” she replies, and he winces.

“Ma, I’m sor-”

“No, none of that,” she cuts him off lightly, turning for the door and gently pulling him along, “We are going to buy some things and I am going to make you some Apple Amber.” 

Steve gapes.

“But, ma-”

“Nope,” she cuts him off again, smiling at him over her shoulder.

Steve can’t help his own lips twitching up back.

They grab his bag from the office section, and he pauses when he catches Tony hovering by the front door.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he says, turning to his mother. She looks at Tony briefly before smiling and nodding once at Steve, letting his hand go and heading out the door with a smile at Tony, who stands up straighter and manages a half crooked one and a nod in return. Steve walks over.

“Rogers, I’m sorry,” Tony blurts when Steve reaches him, eyes never staying on his face for more than two seconds, “I thought you knew and I shouldn’t have said anything without checking and _fuck_ this is awkward and why yes, that was a curse, I’m seventeen and heir to a major company deal with it,” he says on one breath and directs the last at the ladies seated in the office, giving him various looks. Tony goes silent, glancing at Steve every few seconds.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says simply, because he can’t manage much more than that right now, and he appreciates it, even if he can’t feel much beyond a spreading, numb sort of pain branching out from his chest. It feels a little bit like after a bad asthma attack, but deeper, somehow, like it goes beyond the physical pain of his chest and lungs.

Tony’s eyes focus on his for a little longer than a few seconds and he nods once, jerkily, crossing his arms and trying for casual. “I know you two-”

“Please,” Steve cuts him off, and Tony stops, “Don’t.” Tony studies him for a moment before uncrossing his arms, shoving his hands down into his pockets.

“Just let me say this,” Tony says, and Steve’s mouth pinches a little, “I don’t know everything, but I know Pierce has a lot to do with Bucky’s...well, _everything_. And I don’t know what he did before he left, but I know Bucky genuinely cared about you. Still does, if the past four years I’ve known him mean anything.” Steve’s brows draw together slightly and Tony shrugs. “He acts tougher than he is. Like a porcupine,” he explains, “Sort of like someone _else_ I know.” He slants a quirk of his lips in Steve’s direction and Steve manages a twitch of his own back. Tony sighs, pulling his hands out of his pockets and pushing his glasses up with a couple fingers. “Take it easy, okay?” he asks, “And don’t blame yourself for the shit in his head.”

Steve’s lips twitch up a little more, briefly. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Tony says, smiling a little, “Take care of yourself.” And then he’s turning to go.

“Why, Tony,” Steve manages, and Tony pauses to turn around. Steve tries to crack a grin, as much of one as he can. “It almost sounds like you _care_.”

Tony blinks and then scoffs. “What can I say?” he asks, raising his hands in a ‘ _what can you do_ ’ gesture, “I guess I’ve got a heart after all.” He points at Steve with his cellphone, and Steve blinks, not sure when he pulled it out. “And don’t you go telling anyone,” he warns, mock-seriously, and Steve manages a small smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he returns, and Tony nods with a smirk, satisfied, before turning back around and heading down the hall, fiddling with his phone until he turns a corner.

Steve meets his mother at the school’s main entrance, and she smiles at him. 

“Ready?” she asks, offering out her arm.

Steve loops his through hers, bag slung over his shoulder, and manages a small smile back. “Yeah,” he says.

And it still hurts, it hurts _a lot_ , and he’s not sure he’ll ever get over it, but he has to keep moving. 

That’s what Rogers’ do.

-

_Bonus_

She spots him when she’s checking the prices on three different kinds of apples, and stands back up straight, bag in hand.

“Well, if it isn’t little Sarah Rogers,” Pierce says with a polite smile. She barely keeps her teeth from grinding.

“Alexander,” she returns formally, and something in his eyes goes a little hard. He always hated being addressed that way. Fair’s fair.

He slips his hands into his pockets, casual.

“It’s only been a couple days, but I hear James is doing well in Russia,” he says calmly. She keeps her eyes from wideningor narrowing. “I hope you understand,” he continues, gently apologetic, lifting one of the apples up out of the bin and examining it, “I couldn’t have him turning out like his father,” he rubs his finger over a bruise in the bright color.

She keeps her breathing calm, measured. 

She wishes she’d known what happened to Winifred after she took her son and moved. Sarah would’ve-

“I understand completely,” she replies with a smile, and he smiles back, putting the apple down before turning to go.

“As long as you do,” he says over his shoulder, looking like the cat that got the canary.

She’s no canary.

“Oh, and Alex,” she says, before he can get too far. 

She sees his back go a little straighter before relaxing again as he turns around, smiling politely again.

She smiles one back.

“Me ma once said the Rogers’ line burns bright and fierce,” she says, letting her accent out. His brows draw together a little. “Like a phoenix. Even if ya ship’im off to one of the coldest parts of the world, fire is fire m’dear.” She gives him a polite nod before picking up the apple he put down and putting it in the bag of them she’s collected, setting them in her cart and pushing it away.

She thinks James would be pleased at how cryptic she managed to be, but a little disappointed she didn’t clock’im one.

Who knows, maybe some day, Steve will do it for them both.

Maybe _Bucky_ will.


	12. Here we are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of part two.

“ _Hey, Rogers!_ ”

“Yeah!” Steve calls back, lifting his head and looking towards the main door, and for a second it sounds like men screaming his name over explosions again.

The guy just inside the door lifts the phone and Steve stands up straight from packing his duffel.

He dodges two other guys down the row of beds on his way over, roughhousing in fatigues with grins who apologize with quick, “ _Sorry, Cap_ ,”s and quick, sloppy salutes, and takes the phone with a, “Thanks.”

“Hello?” he asks into it.

“ _Mr. Rogers_ ,” says a formal, male voice. Steve swallows. “ _I know it’s been a few months since we last spoke, but it’s Mr. Carson, calling on behalf of Dally Insurance_.”

Steve blows out a slow breath.

-

“ _Woowoowoo! Rogers!_ ” he hears and turns his head with a grin in the sun, slowing to a stop just out from under the base’s main building’s shadow.

“Hey, Sam,” he greets, laughing when Sam throws an arm around the back of his neck and pulls him down slightly for a one-armed hug. Steve readjusts his duffle strap on his shoulder.

“‘ _Hey, Sam_ ’, he says,” Sam says disbelievingly, “Can you not smell that, Rogers? That is the smell of _freedom_ , my man. Glorious freedom after _eighty. Years_.”

Steve laughs again and they start walking towards the car park. “It was eight, Sam,” Steve teases, “You got your car already?” Sam gives him a disbelieving look.

“First thing,” he says, pulling his keys out and pressing a button. A car three rows down flashes its lights with a honk and they head in its direction among the other discharged. “You act like you’re not looking forward to freedom,” Sam says, letting him go when they get there so he can unlock the driver’s side door.

“I am,” Steve says honestly. Sam rests a forearm on top of the car and _looks_ at him across the roof. “I _am_ ,” Steve repeats, “Just…” Sam’s expression goes a little concerned.

“Shit,” he says, “You got the call, didn’t you.” Steve nods. “Man,” Sam says, “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to be here when she...”

Steve shakes his head, nodding towards Sam and Sam unlocks the rest of the car with a _click_ and no further words, thankfully. Steve opens the passenger side and slides his duffel down into the foot hold. “It’s fine,” he says before getting in. Sam follows and they both close their doors.

“Nah. It’s not,” Sam says gently, looking over at him. Steve looks down at his duffel, fingers curling a little in his lap. “What are you gonna do?” Steve blows out a slow breath.

“She left me enough,” he says, softer, making himself uncurl his fingers, “Turns out she’d been...setting a little aside each time.” He reaches for the seatbelt and hears Sam follow suit. It gives Steve a chance to focus on something else, clear his head a little. “Probably stay on campus.”

“Pick a direction yet?” Sam asks, starting the car and putting it in reverse, checking all of the mirrors before he starts backing out.

“Was thinking art,” Steve says, eyes dropping back to his bag after he looks out the windows, reads the ‘ _CPT. S. ROGERS_ ’ labeled across the top. “You?” he asks, looking back over at Sam.

“Maybe something to do with veterans,” Sam says casually. Steve raises an eyebrow, lips ticking up on one side.

“ _You_ ,” he says disbelievingly, “You can barely keep yourself on the ground, _flyboy_.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows back and glancing over from the road, “That’s _Mr._ Flyboy to you, _Cap_.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Besides, I wasn’t _just_ flyboy, I was part of R.E.S.C.U.E., too. Ms. Potts would have your ass if she heard you ignoring her division, whether you went to school with her or _not_.” Steve looks out the passenger window as they move down towards the interstate, lips curving up.

“Still can’t keep your feet on the ground,” Steve mutters.

Sam punches him lightly on the arm.

\--

“So…” Sam trails off, pulling into a parking space, “This is us.”

Steve stares up at it.

He swallows.

Sam shuts the car off and they both sit there for a minute, staring up at the building before they both get out, Steve slinging his duffle back over his shoulder and Sam pulling his out from the back, locking the car and closing the door before walking around to the front of it. Steve squares his shoulders.

“It’s a dorm, Cap, not a firing squad,” Sam says with a smile. Steve blows out a breath and walks around the car to join him.

“Would prefer the firing squad,” Steve mumbles as they head inside. Sam snorts a laugh, but nods.

 _College_ , Steve thinks, he hasn’t been this nervous since _high school_.

Even joining the _army_ wasn’t this daunting.


	13. This is how he meets Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm terrible but no I haven't forgotten or abandoned this I just got sideswiped by a mermaid au that demanded I finish it _as soon as possible_ but now that that's up and finished I can WORK ON UPDATED EVERYTHING EEEELSE FDJKSFLSL. Seriously _everything_ got put on hold. BUT NO MORE. Subtly starts a serial killer au? ???  
>  Thank you to Kay (Stringlish) for betaing while Gina (aprofessorstale) is busy. <3 Seriously might just throw it at both of you at some point if you want because <3

“Sam.”

“Yeah, Steve?”

Steve holds his schedule up, looking over. “Why do I have to take science when I’m an art major?”

“Because the world is an unfair and cruel place,” Sam replies, tucking in the final corner of his bed. “If it helps though,” he continues, stepping back to inspect the hospital corners and giving a small, approving nod before turning to Steve with a small smirk, “I heard the brand new chemistry teacher was ‘hot’.”

Steve frowns.

“I’m not taking chemistry,” he says, “And where did you hear that? You only stepped out to double check our room was right.”

Sam shrugs.

“You hear things in these halls of youth,” he answers a little dramatically, spreading his hands and arms like that encompases it all.

Steve shakes his head a little, looking back down at his schedule.

“It’s just a pre-req, right?” Sam asks, heading for his desk.

Steve sighs.

“Yeah,” he says, “Still. Wasn’t ever my best subject.”

“You’ll do fine,” Sam reassures, adjusting his pencil holder just _so_ , “Besides, all else fails? _I’m_ taking chemistry. I can help.”

Steve gives him a grateful smile.

\--

So, he’s stuck taking a math and a science class, doing health on Wednesday nights and job hunting in between, but it’s the actual _art_ class he shines in.

He had decided to start from the bottom and work his way to the top, but after showing one of his sketchbooks to his possible instructors, at Sam’s subtle insistence, they bumped him up to intermediate.

So, figure drawing it is. With models.

Nude models.

Steve leans a little to look around his easel, can feel the heat rising in his face but forces it down and looks back to his paper, sketching in the soft curve of a shoulder.

Her name is Raven and she’s...beautiful, in a unique way. He can’t quite put his finger on what it is, but she’s difficult to capture on paper.

He manages to get most of the pose done before they break and soon after start another, and Steve dives back into it like a man that found water in the desert.

It’s different from just drawing people he sees out and around, more restricted, but he kind of likes it.

He thanks Raven when they’re done, and she offers him a slowly changing smile from shy to confident and shakes his hand with a, “It was my pleasure,” and Steve smiles in return and heads home.

\--

When he gets back to their dorm room, Sam’s already asleep so Steve moves quiet like he was trained and silently gets ready for bed.

He ends up staring at his ceiling for a little while with a small smile on his face.

 _So this is college, huh?_ he thinks, rolling over and closing his eyes, _Thanks, ma._

He’s glad to be here.

\--

“So how are your classes?” Steve asks the next morning, swallowing down a vitamin halfway through his cereal.

“Fine,” Sam replies, “But most of the students are like, ten years younger than us.”

“I’m twenty-eight, _thirty-two,_ ” Steve replies with a smirk. He sees Sam’s blurry reflection in the screen and doesn’t have to have his contacts in to know he’s pouting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam replies, turning back to his books, “There is this one guy though, Barton? Was face down at his table five minutes into class-”

Steve snorts mid-chew and coughs, trying to swallow, quickly setting his creal down with a _clunk_. “Barton?” he asks, once he can breathe again.

“Yeah,” Steve can hear Sam frowning amidst the concern, “You know him?”

“High school,” Steve manages, coughing again into his elbow before clearing his throat and looking over, wiping the tears out of his eyes. Sam gives him a curious look, eyebrows lifting inquisitively. “Let’s just say he...leaves an impression,” Steve settles on. Sam snorts. “Like your teachers?” Steve asks next, picking up his cereal again.

“Yeah,” Sam replies, Steve can hear the smile in his voice, “Mr. Romanov, teaches my Poli. Sci., he makes it interesting. I think he’s a vet, too. Looks like he’s seen some similar shit.”

Steve pauses, lowering the spoonful of cereal back to his bowl.

“Romanov?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sam replies, “What, you know that name, too?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, “Well...knew a Natasha Roman _off_. She was in my high school, too. Transferred from Russia, then back, so...might be her husband or something.” He frowns down at his laptop keys for a moment before taking a bite of cereal, trying to push old memories aside. It’s gotten easier to do, over the years.

“I shouldn’t be surprised, should I,” Sam says, and Steve smiles a little, looking over to find Sam’s eyebrow raised at him.

Steve snorts. “Probably not.”

“How did you go to highschool with _everyone_ ,” Sam groans a little.

“That’s _two_ people,” Steve replies, and now it’s _his_ turn to raise an eyebrow.

Sam raises both of his right back.

“Okay,” Steve acknowledges, “And Tony _and_ Pepper. Still.”

“Don’t ‘ _still_ ’ me, Rogers,” Sam replies, “Rub off some of that good fortune.”

Steve laughs.

\--

Luckily, his and Sam’s classes align well enough on Mondays and Fridays that they can grab lunch together, and it’s Friday that Steve meets Clint. _Properly_.

“Hey, Steve,” Sam calls, and Steve looks up to find him approaching with tall, dirty blonde, and actually not that bad looking, “This is the guy I told you about, Clint-”

“Barton,” Steve finishes for him, standing up and offering his hand out. Clint tilts his head a little but takes it, shaking before letting go.

“How do you know my last name?” Clint asks, frowning, “We met? You _do_ look familiar.”

“Halloween Party. Senior year,” Steve answers, lips curving up with a raised eyebrow when Clint just frowns further, “You were dressed in purple with arrows and threw up on Tony’s yard.”

“ _Ahhhh_ ,” Clint draws out, snapping his fingers, “Steve _Rogers_. Yeah, Nat said you were here.”

Now it’s _Steve’s_ turn to frown.

“Natasha? So she _is_ here. Or at least, her husband is,” Steve says, “She’s here, too?” Clint’s brows furrow for a moment before they completely even out.

“You didn’t know she was here,” he says, then starts glancing around, “Which means she didn’t want you to know. And now you do. Because of me.” Clint slowly does a three-sixty turn and Sam frowns, brows drawn together, and glances at Steve. Steve glances back.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks. Clint’s eyes rove over everything, even the ceiling.

“Looking for Nat,” he replies, dropping quick to the ground and looking under all the rows of tables, slowly standing back up to face them again, “Don’t see her. Which means she doesn’t know yet. But she _will_ ,” he finishes, lower, eyes coming back to Sam and Steve. Sam glances at him again.

“She really that bad?” he asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve and Clint say in unison. Sam’s eyebrows rise. There’s a loud _ping_ and they all look down while Clint pulls his cellphone out. He texts something quick and then looks back up.

“You guys free for drinks tonight?” he asks.

Sam widens his eyes at Steve.

\--

The bar, or restaurant, some hybrid between the two, is pretty crowded and at least three-fourths of the way full of people, mostly other students, younger than them, but Steve follows Clint to a half circle booth behind Sam.

Clint slides in first on one side and Sam on the other, so Steve follows Sam, sitting on the outside. A waiter comes by pretty quick and they order three beers before they all settle in.

“So,” Clint starts, “While we wait for Nat. What have you been up to?” he asks, nodding to Steve. Steve shrugs.

“Just got released,” he replies. Clint’s eyes move over him quick and Steve feels like a book that just got read in ten seconds.

“Military?” he asks, and Steve nods while Sam gives a low whistle. Clint throws him a smile and focuses back on Steve. Steve waits for the inevitable ‘ _How did you get in? You used to be so **tiny**_ ,’ that he gets when he runs into people from school now and then, but it never comes.

“What rank?” Clint asks, and Steve has to take a moment to collect himself from the remnants of _surprise_.

“Captain,” he replies, and Clint’s eyebrows shoot up.

“At, what, twenty-six?” he asks, frowning, “The hell did you do to get up there that fast?” he half mumbles. Steve feels Sam’s eyes on him when he focuses on their incoming waiter instead of answering, taking a sip of his beer after saying a ‘ _Thank you_ ’. “You did something stupid, didn’t you,” Clint says, and Steve looks up to see Clint glancing to Sam. Sam glances at Steve before looking back.

“He did,” he starts lightly, smiling, and Steve focuses on his beer again, “Saved about three hundred men.” Steve takes another sip. There’s a pause, where Clint’s probably making a surprised face at that, after all, who’d expect something like that from _little Steve Rogers_ , and then Sam adds, “Blew up a stronghold,” and Steve focuses a little harder on his beer, how cold it is in his hands, the music overhead and the chatter in the main area of the bar.

There’s another pause, longer this time, and Steve risks a glance up.

Clint’s looking at him, but he looks…

“You don’t have to tell me,” Clint says with a small shrug, taking a swallow from his own beer.

Steve’s told Sam a lot of what happened, and Sam won’t repeat it without his say. This is completely up to him.

And he’s not sure what it is about Clint, but he gets the feeling that Clint might understand a little better. Might have been through something more similar than Sam has even in _his_ long experience.

“There were child soldiers,” Steve says, quiet enough to keep it to their table, “They were in the blast. I couldn’t…” he trails off, shaking his head a little and looking down at the beer in his hands. He tightens his grip.

It’s quiet for a moment, _oppressing_ , before-

“I’m not judging you, Steve,” Clint says, and Steve looks up.

And he’s not. The look in Clint’s eyes is _far_ from judging.

“A lot of us have done things we want to take back,” Clint continues, “And a lot of us have made impossible calls.” It’s quiet for a minute, and Steve lets his eyes drop to the table. “There’s a bathroom down the hall to the left, the door straight ahead, if you need a minute away from all this,” Clint adds, gesturing with his beer to the room at large. Steve blinks, nods, and Clint nods back.

Steve gets up, giving a quick smile to Sam before he follows Clint’s directions, steps picking up a little the farther he gets away, but manages to hear Sam’s, “ _He didn’t know. Blames himself_ ,” and Clint’s:

“ _We all do_.”

Before he’s completely out of earshot.

\--

When he leaves the bathroom and heads back to the booth, he hears what sounds like _Russian_ floating towards him through the cacophony of voices, and looks up-

And almost stops.

There’s a red haired woman and dark brown haired man standing next to Clint, facing away from Steve. He knows the woman is Natasha, but the man looks…

The angles of his body look almost _familiar_.

Steve shakes his head a little.

But that’s not right. Besides, Bucky’s hair was shorter, and he wasn't quite as thick. It couldn’t be-

Steve pauses that train of thought.

...Actually, it’s not entirely possible it couldn’t.

They left for Russia _together_. And it’s been _eight years_. And honestly, Steve thought Bucky _had_ left _with_ her because-

He catches Sam’s eyes before the man seems to turn to Sam and Steve hears-

“- _James, but you can call me_ -”

And Steve reaches the table, steps slowing while his eyes slowly widen, because he _knows_ that voice. Still. Never managed to completely forget it.

His stomach drops and his heartbeat picks up.

“Bucky...?” he asks.

The man turns towards him, expression slowly shifting from polite to shocked, and this time, Steve _does_ freeze.

“ _Steve…?_ ” Bucky asks, staring at him with wide eyes.

And this is how he meets Bucky for the second time in his life and the first time in _eight years_ , since he kissed Steve and left him standing in his own doorway without another word, until now.


	14. We'll never go out of style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be longer but I realized it kind of should end where it does since things start happening in the next one SO here we go. XD

Everything slows, like in a damn movie, and Bucky has to look up slightly to actually _look_ Steve in the eye, he notes absurdly, absently. Not much, just about an inch or so, but-

“I thought you were smaller,” comes out, and _damn_. Great. Great opening line for the first time in years, Barnes, eight to be exact. Just _great_.

“I thought you were-” Steve starts, and then cuts off with a cringe and a hard cough and doubles forward, bracing both hands on the table and breathing picking up fast, _too_ fast-

“ _Shit_ , your inhaler,” Bucky says, quickly moving closer to pat down Steve’s pockets, “Where is it? _Where is it?_ ” he asks a little frantically ( _okay, a **lot** frantically_ ). Something moves close in his periphery and he looks up to see the guy he was introducing himself to - _Wilson_ \- holding Steve’s inhaler up to Steve’s mouth and hears Steve pull in a breath, watches his breathing slowly start to even out and then realizes how close he is and makes himself take a step back, swallowing.

Right.

That’s not his job anymore.

 _Fuck_ , it hasn’t been for _eight years_. _What the_ _fuck is he doing?_

He’s _over_ Steve. He _had_ to be. _Steve is nothing. Steve is nothing. Steve is nothing._

But that’s never been true. Eight years he’s been telling that mantra to himself and it’s never been true, not ever, and he _knows_ it. He’s always known it.

It’s just- _seeing_ Steve, it-

Shit. He just _caused_ Steve to have an asthma attack. Why the _hell_ is he thinking about their nonexistent relationship?

_You broke it off, **remember,** Barnes? **Fuck**._

Something jabs into his side sharply and his eyes dart over to Natasha, nudging her sharply with his hip right back.

“I’m fine,” Steve says, and Bucky’s eyes dart back to him. Steve pushes himself up off of the table and looks out at the bar when he notices the attention on him. He gives a brief wave with an, “ _I’m fine_ ,” and the patrons gradually go back to what they were doing, a waiter making a beeline for them.

“Are you alright?” the waiter asks, brows drawing together, and Steve nods, giving him a placating smile.

“Just a mild asthma attack,” he replies, “I’m fine now.” The waiter hesitates but slowly nods back, pulling out their little notepad, “Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine,” Steve replies, glancing around the table.

“Pizza for me,” Clint pipes up.

“A cheeseburger for me,” Natasha adds, nodding her head slightly at Clint who obligingly scoots over so she can slide in, the arm she hooks in _his_ dragging _Bucky_ down with her ( _and isn’t **that** the story of his life_ ).

Steve slides in next to Wilson.

“Another burger for me,” Wilson adds too, and the waiter jots it down with a nod, giving them all a smile before disappearing. Wilson pats Steve’s leg with a look Bucky can’t quite read but could _swear_ he’s had on his own face at some point, and Steve nods with a twitch of his lips.

Their bodies are angled towards each other, Bucky notices.

Natasha gives his shoe a gentle tap with her own.

“ _I know what you’re doing_ ,” he says quietly out of the side of his mouth in Russian. Natasha leans a little more against him.

“ _I don’t know what you mean, dear_ ,” she replies casually, just as quietly in the same. Bucky holds back a scowl.

“ _It won’t work_ ,” he just says, swallowing a little, “ _They’re **together**_.” Bucky closes his eyes briefly when he’s realized his mistake.

“So, Sam,” Natasha starts, and Bucky takes in a slow breath, watches Sam and Steve both turn back to the table at large. “Where did you meet Steve?” Sam quirks a brow with a smile.

 _Damn it_. He’s _handsome_ , _too._

_No. Stop. Stop thinking about it, Barnes. **It doesn’t matter.**_

“Army, technically,” Sam replies, and Bucky actually _chokes_ on his own spit. _Graceful, Barnes._ He coughs for a moment while Natasha pats his back patronizingly, but only Bucky and Clint would know it.

“You were in the _army?_ ” Bucky finally manages to ask, and Steve’s expression closes off a bit in the eyes and oh, fuck, Bucky’s _already_ messed up again. His _Steve_ is rusty, but it’s coming back fast.

“Yeah,” Steve answers calmly, “I was.”

 _Really_ fucked up.

“I didn’t-” Bucky starts, but is interrupted by the waiter coming back and setting a glass of water in front of Steve with a small smile. Steve returns it and Bucky wants to yank his own hair out.

 _Damn it_.

“Uh,” he stumbles, and Steve doesn’t even look at him, which makes him blurt out, “I was in the military, too.” He can feel Natasha’s eyes focus on him like a _laser_ , and he wants to wince, but now Steve _is_ looking at him, eyes a little wide, curious, but not demanding. Steve understands the need for...space.

Shit, what does that say about _Steve?_ Did something happen to him to _teach_ him that? Well of _course_ something happened, but how bad was it? To what extent did it happen? Did he _lose_ something _too_ -

Something jabs him in the ribs again and he blinks out of his spiral, focusing.

“What?” he asks, when everyone just stares at him.

“I asked what you did,” Sam supplies, curious, too. Bucky’s less inclined to answer him, but Steve’s still looking at him and now he doesn’t want to answer at all, and Steve is _part_ of the reason he doesn’t want to.

“Sniper,” Bucky answers, short and quieter. Sam nods a little while Steve just keeps looking at him, and it feels like Bucky’s the center of the universe all over again. Like he’s a star in the middle of the whole of existence and Steve’s attention is what _keeps_ him there, keeps him _steady_ -

_**Fuck** , **no** , he needs to go._

Bucky scoots out from the booth and stands up with a quick, “Bathroom,” and leaves before anyone can say anything.

When he gets into the bathroom, he stops in front of the mirror and turns the faucet on, splashing some cold water over his face with a small shudder and turning it off before he looks up.

He glances around, makes sure the bathroom is empty before he looks back again, leaning in a little after a moment.

“You’re still fucked, aren’t you,” he says to his reflection, and he doesn’t need it to talk to know the answer. “You were fucked from day one,” he tells it, stares for a moment longer before he turns and exits the room.

When he gets back to the table, everyone’s laughing about something and Natasha glances over at him, just a quick look, before she’s focused on the others again.

He takes the seat next to her.

“So _this_ is the woman who makes Clint check under tables,” Sam says with a laugh, wiping at his eyes.

“Did he now,” she says more than asks, slanting a sly smile at Clint who just raises an eyebrow and sips his beer, eyes on the ceiling. Her lips curl up a little more like a cat that got the cream before she focuses on Steve. “I hear you’re in college now,” she starts, and Steve raises an eyebrow a little, quirking a small, wry smile.

“You got spies on campus?” he teases back. Natasha smirks, pleased.

“All over,” she replies, and Bucky snorts, gets another elbow to his rib for his troubles. Steve’s eyes dart to him, a quick question, and Bucky manages a smile that feels _mostly_ genuine back before Steve’s eyes are back on Natasha. “What classes are you taking?” she inquires, and Bucky focuses since she’s also doing this for _him_.

“Figure drawing, a basic science, a brush up on math, health,” Steve lists off, “Do you still paint?”

“I do,” Natasha practically purrs, leaning forward a little on her elbows, eager to talk with someone other than _Bucky_ about it. She’s an artist at heart, Bucky knows, not like him and a lot like Steve. She’s missed conversing in rolling phrases and elegance, he knows, something he’s not exactly skilled in, not like that. “Not as often as I’d like, but you should come by sometime,” she offers, “There’s some I want to show you.” Steve’s smile stays in place but Bucky can see the hesitancy in the way he shifts slightly, can see it in his eyes and knows it’s because of _him_.

Bucky drops his eyes to the table, picking at nothing on the smooth wood.

“I’d like that,” Steve replies, and _that_ part is genuine, even though he’s clearly a little uncomfortable, at least to people trained in reading it, which seems to be everyone at this damn table.

“Can I have your number?” Natasha asks, and Steve nods after a brief moment before reaching into his pocket to pull out his cellphone. Bucky glances over to watch and vaguely notes that Clint and Sam are debating basketball teams and which one which _Doctor Who_ Doctor might prefer of _all_ things. “Perfect,” Natasha says, handing the phone back, and that’s about time the waiter brings their food.

\--

The next hour goes by and Bucky gets one or two words in to Steve, but mostly keeps to himself. It’s not that Steve’s ignoring him, he can tell, and he’s not exactly ignoring Steve either, it’s just…

They need to feel each other out again, and Bucky maybe needs to let himself get yelled at for what he did eight years ago, for leaving Steve after-

And maybe do a little yelling of his own, because he had his _reasons_.

Point is, now and here isn’t the place for it, so until then it’s all...small glances and stilted words.

When they all decide to leave, after they agree that they should do this again, exchange numbers like trading cards and the cool air hits Bucky in the face, he watches Steve.

Steve looks up at him from across what’s apparently Sam Wilson’s car and they share a look for a moment that feels like a lifetime and Bucky swallows, inclines his head. Steve smiles a little back, a barely there thing, and nods before getting in. Bucky turns around and does the same.

He stares forward while Natasha starts the car.

“Seatbelt,” she instructs, and he reaches for it automatically, the click loud in the silence while they sit there. Bucky’s eyes follow Sam’s car as it pulls out, sees Sam wave at them before pulling out of the parking lot and Bucky watches them go.

“ _What do you think?_ ” she asks quietly in Russian, putting the car into gear.

“ _I think he’s angry_ ,” he replies, and she snorts, pulling forward and towards the road.

“ _But he misses you, too_ ,” she comments, and he frowns a little, looking over at her. She glances back before pulling out onto the road. “ _Why do you think he kept glancing at you, and didn’t talk to you most of the time we were there? You unsettle him. He still feels for you._ ”

“ _He didn’t exactly get closure_ ,” Bucky replies, looking back out the window, “ _He might just punch me and be done with it_.”

Natasha hums consideringly.

“ _Maybe_ ,” she replies, cryptic, as always, “ _His pain has turned into anger, but he had to love you first for there to be pain_.”

“Yeah,” Bucky switches to English, “And I put it there.”

He reaches for the radio before she can reply.

\--

Sam gets the door open and Steve follows him inside, still braced for it, waiting.

“So,” Sam starts, as Steve closes the door, “That was _him_.”

And yup, there it is.

Steve blows out a breath, locking the door with a nod.

“Yeah, that was _him_ ,” he replies, taking his coat off and heading for their shared closet.

“Mr. _Blue-Eyes,Tall-Dark-and-Handsome_ ,” Sam says, and Steve doesn’t have to look to know Sam’s raising an eyebrow at him, “Mr. _Longingly-Stared-At-You-The-Whole-Time-We-Were-There_. _That_ was ‘doucheface’.” Steve rolls his eyes, reaching for a hanger. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” Sam says right after, and Steve shakes his head.

He should be used to Sam being able to do that by now.

Steve turns around, closing the closet door after getting his coat wedged between their winter ones and grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste on the way to the door. “Yeah, that was _doucheface_. And he wasn’t ‘ _longingly staring at me_ ’, geeze, Sam.”

“ _Mmhmm_ ,” Sam hums disbelievingly, “You look yourself in the eyes while you’re brushing your teeth and tell yourself that, see if you actually believe it. Did you see the way he looked when he couldn’t find your inhaler? And then when _I_ was the one who helped you?” Sam whistles. “‘Doucheface’ was pining after you hard enough I felt it across the table during my _very intense debate about Doctor Who_.”

“ _Mmhmm_ ,” Steve returns with a raised eyebrow of his own thrown over his shoulder, heading for the door and trying not to let his heart skip that same stupid beat it did eight years ago when he thought he _knew_ Bucky. Sam just shakes his head and Steve heads down the hall for the communal bathroom.

He stops at a random sink, getting his toothpaste open and squeezing some blue on the brush, twisting the cap back on before starting on his teeth. He glances up at the mirror after a moment and pauses, pulling his toothbrush out of his mouth.

“He wasn’t staring at me longing-...ly…” Steve trails off, muffled a little from the toothpaste, face screwing up in his reflection.

He drops his eyes to the sink and goes back to brushing his teeth, a little harder than before.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , Steve tells himself, brushing the center of his tongue briefly, _even if Bucky **was** , he **left** after kissing him in high school, **for Russia**. And he’s married now, **to** **Natasha**_.

Steve spits out the toothpaste and turns the faucet on, rinsing off his toothbrush like a paintbrush and cupping some water in his free hand, bring it up quick to his mouth and swishing it around inside before spitting it out, turning the faucet off and looking straight into the mirror.

“I’m still going to punch him for that,” Steve says to himself, and _that_ he believes.


	15. I heard, oh, that you've been out and about with some other girl

Things change during the next week. Clint hangs out with them more and Steve actually gets to _know_ him. Sam makes friends with a young woman named Janet in his psychology class, _Steve_ makes friends with his Figure Class model Raven, and they see Natasha a lot.

And by extension, sometimes Bucky.

It’s...Steve’s still not sure how to feel about it, and from the look on Sam’s face Steve catches now and then, it looks like _he’s_ not completely sure how he feels about hanging around with his Political Science teacher.

And Steve’s still trying to wrap his head around _that_.

Bucky’s a _teacher_.

Steve remembers alleyways and Bucky teaching him how to fight, and when he thinks about it he guesses it isn’t _strange_ so much as...he didn’t think that’s what Bucky would want to _be_ later in life. But they never really talked about the future much. 

_Obviously_.

There’s a tension between him and Bucky when they’re in the same room, and Steve’s not dumb, he knows _why_ , he just…

They haven’t gotten a real chance to talk about it. 

Between Steve’s classes and whatever Bucky does outside of his teaching, by the time they’re all in one place Steve just wants to... _not do it_ , and Bucky doesn’t seem inclined to do it, either. Steve _knows_ they have to, he can’t really move forward until they do (Peggy had told him that, once, in not so many words and with far more eloquence than he deserved), he just...part of him doesn’t want to. He can admit, in the privacy of his own head and _maybe_ to Sam, that part of him, his eighteen year old self, is scared to finally have the answers to the questions he’d been asking himself from night to early in the morning while lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, wondering what he did wrong and if Bucky was okay, if Steve would ever see him again. 

The anger’s still there, but for a while after Bucky left, Steve was just…

Sad.

So, maybe Steve’s not ready for it, and for whatever reason, Bucky doesn’t seem to be either.

In the end, it takes another week before it finally happens, anyway.

\--

“You guys wanna go out?” Clint asks, raising his eyebrows.

“What he’s trying to say, not so subtly,” Sam adds in with an eyebrow raised at Clint, who just raises his hands and looks down at his food, glancing over at them after a moment. Sam shakes his head with a smile and looks to Steve. “Is that there’s a band playing downtown tonight and he can’t buy his way in, so he needs someone to take him.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Clint lets out, then pouts down at his food while he picks at his fries, “Okay, maybe. But I _would_ ask you guys to go if I had the money,” he adds, looking up at them honestly. 

Steve cracks a smile and shares it with Sam.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” Steve agrees, and Sam raises his eyebrows a little. 

Oh. 

“ _I’ll go_ ,” Steve says a little firmer, and Sam nods before smiling over at Clint.

“ _Alright!_ ” Clint lets out while punching his fist up into the air. A few of the people also sitting in the cafeteria’s eyes dart over to them and Clint slowly lowers it, grinning while ducking his head a little, not really repentant at all. “You guys are _great_ ,” he says, patting Sam on the back. 

Steve laughs.

\--

True to Sam’s pointedly raised eyebrows, they run into Bucky and Natasha five minutes after they arrive. Clint throws Steve a brief, apologetic look and Steve smiles back, shrugging a little. 

It’s not a problem. It’s not.

Clint grins and nods before scouting for the best place to stand, disappearing into the chattering crowd.

“ _Hey!_ ” Natasha shouts over the chatter, “ _Haven’t seen that vest in a while!_ ” Steve grabs the hem and holds a side out a bit, letting it drop back to his side with a smile.

“ _Could never bring myself to get rid of it!_ ” Steve shouts a bit back. He hasn’t worn it a lot since highschool, but sometimes he’ll bring it out of his closet and dust it off, crawl into the skin he doesn’t completely fit in anymore.

“ _I tried to get him to!_ ” Sam pitches in with a playful roll of his eyes, smiling. Natasha laughs and Steve grins.

She catches Sam’s arm and leads him over to the bar and Steve watches them go. 

After a moment, he feels eyes on him, and sure enough, when he looks, Bucky’s eyes are focused on him. His arm, to be exact.

Bucky’s eyes shift up to his hair and Steve knows what he’s looking for.

“ _Can’t see it anymore!_ ” Bucky says over the conversations happening all around them with a frown, eyes shifting to his. Steve nods a little, opens his mouth to say something but then closes it again, changing his mind.

“ _I got older!_ ” he replies instead, and Bucky’s frown goes a little confused, eyes shifting away from Steve while his brows crinkle.

“Right,” Steve thinks Bucky says, but it’s hard to hear.

“ _What?_ ” he asks, tensing a little, but Bucky shakes his head.

“ _Nothing!_ ” he replies, glancing at him briefly, lips in a slightly stubborn line. 

Guess they’re still not doing it.

“ _Bucky!_ ” Steve says after a minute, and Bucky’s eyes find his again, “ _We need to talk!_ ” Bucky frowns a little again, nodding a bit.

“ _I know!_ ” he replies, and Steve takes a slow breath, trying to keep his heartbeats down.

Neither of them say anything for another minute, watching each other, _studying_ each other-

Sam was right, it does look like Bucky’s seen some shit. 

His hair’s longer now, too, to his shoulders. He still dresses nice, even though he’s not in a suit right now, not like at the restaurant two weeks ago ( _okay, yes, he remembers what Bucky was wearing_ ) and how he’s often dressed when Steve _does_ see him, like he’s heading for a board meeting. Though, right now he’s wearing-

Steve frowns, eyes narrowing a little while he tries to see if they’re-

“ _Are those your jeans from high school?_ ” he asks, eyes back on Bucky’s. Bucky’s own eyes widen slightly before he smirks, raising an eyebrow cockily.

“ _You’re not the only one who can still fit into old clothes_ ,” he brags, and Steve’s still angry, but he can’t help laughing a little at that. Bucky’s face lightens up a bit, and it’s only then that Steve really realizes just how...grave Bucky’s looked since Steve saw him for the first time in eight years. 

He’s...there’s something weighted about him now, like he’s got the world on his shoulders, but Steve was too caught up in his surprise and shock to really notice it, and then everything he’s had to bottle up for eight years slowly spilling out on his insides, corroding and sending fireworks throughout his gut and chest, heart thudding and brain a storm-

“ _Are you okay_ -” Steve starts-

“ _We’re back!_ ” Nat interrupts him before he can ask. 

Bucky’s eyes linger on him for a moment longer before shifting to Nat and Sam.

“ _You get me a beer?_ ” Bucky asks, and Natasha hands him a shot glass. “ _You got me vodka?_ ” he asks next, grinning slow, then frowns, looking to Natasha’s hands and then up at her face, “ _ **That’s it?**_ ” 

Natasha just smirks, shooting back her own shot glass and shrugging.

“ _You didn’t come to the bar with me_ ,” is all she says, and Bucky _groans_ , rolling his eyes.

“ _Come on_ ,” she says, taking Bucky’s arm in hers and Sam’s in the other. Sam hands Steve a beer so they can hook arms too. “ _Let’s go find Clint_ ,” she says, “ _Before he ends up tied up in an abandoned warehouse somewhere with a bunch of mobsters in track suits_.” Sam’s lips pull down in confusion at that but Natasha’s already leading them into the fray.

-

Clint is _not_ , in fact, tied up, but they do spot a few guys in track suits.

Sam and Steve eye them warily.

\--

“I had fun tonight,” Steve says as they all walk back to their cars.

“Me too,” Bucky replies, smiling at him. It makes Steve’s stupid heart skip a stupid beat and he knows it has nothing to do with the arrhythmia he rarely has anymore.

He turns his eyes back forward, notices Sam give him a look over his shoulder before focusing back on Natasha and Clint, the three of them putting a bit more distance between themselves and him and Bucky.

Steve swallows.

Right.

" _So what did_ -"

" _Do you want-_ "

Steve and Bucky both stop, looking at each other.

"Um," Steve says, eloquently. 

Bucky opens his mouth and then closes it again, raising an eyebrow. 

Steve shakes his head a little, looking back at the ground, and misses Bucky swallow and his hands clench.

Steve's being a coward, he _knows_ he's being a coward.

He looks up. 

Sam, Nat, and Clint are a good ways ahead, they shouldn't be able to hear-

"Did it mean anything?" he blurts out, coming to a stop.

Bucky stops with him and Steve forces himself to look over at him.

Bucky stares back, eyes a little wide before they relax again, and he nods a little. 

"It-..." Bucky trails off, and Steve swallows. Bucky shakes his head a little, looking down at the cement for a moment before squaring his shoulders and looking back up. "It meant a lot, to me," he admits, quiet, eyes boring into Steve's.

"Then why did you-"

"I couldn't," Bucky cuts him off, looks briefly apologetic before plowing on, "I still can't. Not yet. I'm just-"

He doesn't continue.

Steve watches his eyes drop to the pavement, to his left hand? Then watches that fist squeeze in its glove-

Steve didn't realize Bucky’s been wearing gloves this whole time. Fall hasn't even started yet.

Bucky looks back up and Steve does, too.

"I know it's been eight years," Bucky starts, serious, the kind that makes Steve's stomach tie up in _knots_ , "And I know you might not-...Steve, I-"

"And _Nat?_ ” Steve cuts him off, and Bucky’s mouth snaps shut, eyes widening a little like he _forgot_ \- “You’re _married_. Christ, you’re _**married** , Bucky_. _I **can’t**_ -”

“That’s _not_ -” Bucky starts.

“I can't wait for you," Steve cuts him off again, because it doesn’t matter, it _doesn’t_. Bucky's mouth snaps shut again and Steve swallows, standing taller. He shakes his head. "I can’t wait for you. I can't do that, not after-" he cuts himself off, "I can't."

Bucky shakes his head a little, looks like he regrets ever opening his mouth, _does_ open it again, like he wants to-

He closes it, eyes dropping to the ground with a nod, and turns to keep walking. 

Steve stares after him, fingers curling into fists.

" _That's it?_ " he demands, and Bucky stops, turning back to look at him. Steve's vaguely aware of the others up ahead, stopped and small over Bucky's right shoulder, looking back at them from a distance. "You're not even going to _try? Again?_ "

Bucky frowns, then his lips flatten into a firm line, eyes going _angry_.

" _I can't-_ "

Steve shakes his head, cutting him off and brushing past him, because it _doesn’t matter_ , he keeps telling himself, _it doesn’t matter_. 

"Yeah," Steve says, "I heard the same thing eight years ago. You don't need to tell me again." And maybe he's bitter, _but_ , Steve thinks, _I deserve to be_.

He doesn't wait for Bucky to catch up, and he doesn’t look behind him, either.

\--

 _Peggy knew_ , Steve thinks that night, staring across at the wall over Sam’s shoulder.

He turns over and stares at his own.

Peggy knew he wasn’t all the way into their relationship, even though Steve never told her why, never mentioned Bucky more than twice.

Steve grips his sheets tighter, pulls them up closer to his face, just over his nose, and curls in on himself, trying futilely to protect his aching heart.

Beautiful, smart, _amazing_ Peggy.

Of course she knew.


	16. Long gone and moved on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay. My ex-job chewed my writing muse up then spit it out and steam rolled it. I couldn't write for tHREE. MONTHS. UGH. IT WAS HORRIBLE. But I quit and I'm looking for a new job and, what do you know, here I am. Writing. [/throws hands up] <333
> 
> Also, because I feel bad that I can't really _let_ anyone know what's going on with my writing schedule without posting a chapter, I made a writing blog for updates, here: http://shaishwrites.tumblr.com
> 
> Go there if you ever wonder what's going on, and feel free to send me an ask too if you have any questions.  
> Thank you for being so patient. I love all of you. <3
> 
> Also! I linked a couple songs that go with a couple scenes and they're _in_ the chapter where the scenes start. You don't have to listen to them, but I find music helps me with mood so I linked them in case anyone else wanted to hear them, too.
> 
> I also may have referenced one of my other stories like a derp because Kay told me to. XD OTL  
> HERE WE GO.

“What are you doing?”

Steve doesn’t look away.

“Watching _Arrow_ ,” he replies.

 _Silence_.

Steve watches Shado fire off an arrow on screen.

“Which season?” Sam asks.

“Two,” Steve replies

“Oh, boy.”

“ _SHH_.”

Sam raises his hands in surrender and leaves Steve to it, gives Steve one last look at where he’s curled up in his bed with his laptop propped in his lap, eyes intent on the screen before closing the door.

-

“Are you...this looks familiar,” Sam says when he comes back some time later, “Are you _sulking?_ ” he asks when it’s clear _Steve hasn’t moved the whole time he’s been out._

“ _No_ ,” Steve replies stubbornly, frowning at the screen.

“But you were like this before,” Sam says, “Acting like this, I mean. We watched the new _Doctor Who_ after you and Peggy broke up and you ended up getting attached to Rose when she-”

“ _Sam!”_ Steve cuts him off _,_ eyes flashing up for a moment _, “We don’t talk about Doomsday._ ”

Sam throws his hands up. “ _Alright_.” He heads to his next class.

-

Sam opens the door in the evening and closes it with a _sigh_ , Steve’s laptop screen a buglight in the dark, frowning a little when he hears-

_Sniffle._

“Steve…?” he asks.

“ _Sh...Shado_ ,” Steve chokes out.

“Oh, boy.”

“She was my favorite, Sam,” Steve says, looking up at him with those big, dumb, watery blue eyes, only amplified by the laptop’s ghostly light, “ _My_ _favorite_ ,” he says, voice small.

“Come on,” Sam says, heading for Steve’s bed and gently prying the laptop out of his lap, “Let’s put this away.”

“But-”

“Nope. Come on”

Steve sighs and then _sniffles_ again. Sam sets the laptop on his desk before making his way over to the wall and warning, “Light,” before flipping it on. Steve’s covered his eyes with a hand when Sam looks back. He heads back over and takes a seat on the end of Steve’s bed.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks after a minute. Steve’s eyes stay stubbornly averted to the side. Sam hears-

 _Sniff_.

Sam’s lips turn up a little.

“You know,” he starts, “I read that it’s good to talk about things instead of bottling them up, which you have a bad habit of doing.” Steve frowns a little.

“It works fine for me,” he replies stubbornly. Sam shakes his head a bit, lips curling up further.

“You know I’m here, right?” he asks gently after a minute. Steve finally glances up and Sam sees his lips twitch up, just a little.

“Yeah,” Steve replies softly, picking at a thread in the comforter, “Thank you, Sam.” He looks up again and Sam smiles. Steve’s eyes drop while his lips curl up, just a tiny bit, and Sam’s reminded _all over again_ why he loves _Steve Rogers_.

He pats Steve’s leg over the comforter and stands up.

“Now get dressed,” he orders, “We’re going out.”

Steve _groans_ and Sam grins.

It’s progress.

-

Sam leads him to a little place near campus that has ‘ _open mic nights_ ’, and seemingly other students that come in and play music and talk and read poetry and-

Sam snags them a table and Steve... _listens._

But Sam knew he would. That’s why Sam brought him here.

He focuses.

Steve... _hears_ people.

He hears a boy rap about his mother under the stage light, the rest of the room dark, hears him spin her in light and stars and _gold_ with his words. Steve hears another talk about a sister, one about a lover. He sees one burst into tears in the middle of a word, sees one tear up in anger and charge on through, sees one forget their lines completely and laugh it away.

Steve even sees Raven, at one point, listens to her rhyme about appearances and perception and wishes he could wipe the world clean, if only so she could see her own beauty without a mirror. She gives him a nod on her way down from the stage back to the table of her friends and he nods back, smiling a little.

Sam looks over at him when they ask if someone else would like to go up next and Steve looks back, shaking his head a little after a moment and looking down at the table, then back up at the stage.

Maybe...maybe later.

Steve settles in a little more to... _listen_ , and he’s reminded, again, that he is not the only life in this universe, or even his own universe, and that he is not the only one feeling things that _ache_ and _hurt_ and are sweet all at once.

\--

They walk back together, after, decide to cut through the park. Steve glances at the swings thoughtfully but looks back straight ahead. Not tonight. Maybe next time.

They keep walking. He’s been waiting for Sam to ask and halfway through the park, he does.

“What are you going to do?”

Steve blows out a breath.

“I don’t know,” he replies. He feels Sam’s eyes on him, then sees Sam shift and put his hands in his pockets in his periphery.

“What do you _want_ to do?” Sam asks next.

Steve doesn’t need to think about it long. He’s been thinking about it for the past _two days_.

“Punch him,” Steve answers immediately, lips curving up at the sound of Sam’s laugh, “Then pull him close and kiss him,” he adds, softer, when Sam’s laughter has died down. He feels eyes on him again and looks over, sees Sam smiling at him.

“Well,” is all he says, and Steve huffs a breathy laugh.

“Yeah,” he agrees. They bump shoulders.

“I’ll be here,” Sam says, once they’re out of the park, and Steve smiles, a weight lifting off of his chest he didn’t even know was there.

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve replies honestly.

He’s probably going to need it. Even if he knows what he wants to do, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s what he _should_ do. It’s been eight years and Bucky’s _married_ , and there’s still…

How Steve feels about Bucky isn’t as cut and dry as it was back then, and with all Bucky’s been trying to say and _stopping himself_ from saying, there seems to be more to it than just how Bucky feels, or more _to_ how Bucky feels. Steve’s not sure. But it’s…

He’s not sure he should even try in the first place.

He’s not sure he wants to lie awake at night again consumed with _Bucky_ when he was mostly just looking for _closure_.

That’s what he needs, maybe, closure.

-

Steve grabs his sketchbook the next night and heads for his life drawing class, feeling...not _better_ , but more focused. He draws Raven better than he has been, as well as the other models, and when he gets back to his dorm, he leaves his laptop on his desk and sketches on his bed instead.

All of them turn into Bucky after the first three attempts, but. Well.

It’s frustrating, at first, but then Steve gets _lost_ in it, draws Bucky how he looked the last time Steve saw him, draws what he thinks Bucky might’ve looked like in the eight years they hadn’t seen each other, and…

And draws the Bucky he sees around _now_.

Steve draws him with his hair pulled back, longer than it ever was in highschool, draws him in those jeans he wore at the bar, draws him in his stuffy suits, draws him-

Steve pauses, lips turning down and brow furrowing a little.

Something’s…

Steve puts his pencil back to paper, hears it _scrtchscrtch_ softly before lifting it up, expression clearing.

Steve traces the curve of Bucky’s smile with his eyes, then sets his pencil down.

Bucky doesn’t really smile anymore.

-

It’s two days later, barely a minute after he’s sat down at a cafeteria table, that Nat finds him. She doesn’t say anything, just sits down across from him and looks off to the side, around, at him, at nothing at all.

“You should come over,” she says, and Steve finally looks up, “I still have some paintings I want to show you.” Steve swallows his mouthful and watches her, curious, wary. If anyone could lure _anyone anywhere_ , it would be Natasha. “It’s fine,” she adds after a few moments, lips curving up a little, “He won’t be there.” Steve’s heartbeat picks up a little and she smiles like she _knows_.

She probably does. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Steve grips his bag strap a bit in hand, the weight of its cargo bearing down on him again. He has something he _does_ need to give to Bucky.

He nods.

“Alright,” he agrees, and Natasha rises, pleased.

“I’ll pick you up after school,” she says, teasingly sweet, and turns to go.

Steve watches her leave for a moment before going back to his food, not taking his hand off of his bag.

-

They talk off and on during the drive, but mostly it’s quiet. Steve’s never had a problem being quiet with Natasha, especially when she terrified him (she still does, but now it’s more…they feel more similar than they did in highschool, somehow) and he thinks she _likes_ that about their relationship.

She could never be pressured into talking, but he thinks that she likes that more often than not, they respected each other’s space and desire for quiet in high school, especially during art, which hasn’t seemed to change.

He wonders if Bucky turns to her for that, too.

They pull up onto a drive that sends Steve back eight years to Bucky’s house, but the house at the end of this one isn’t quite as big, nor nearly as cold. It’s made of practical white lines with pillars standing like sentries on either side of the front door, towering up to the high overhang with warm light spilling out of the windows. It’s comfortable in ways the other house wasn’t. _Lived in_.

Steve stares up as the car comes to a stop.

“You know,” he says, while Natasha kills the engine, “You think I’d be used to this by now.”

“What? Wealth?” she asks, teasing, and he can hear the smirk in her voice.

He doesn’t say anything and she opens her door. Steve opens his after a moment and steps out, following her up to the front door and inside.

He stops and stares.

They have a _centerpiece table in the doorway hall_. A whole table. For nothing but decoration.

Steve forces his eyes away and takes his shoes off when Natasha does.

“Drink?” she asks.

“Water, please,” he replies, following her through the dining room with a table so long he’s pretty sure you could fit a senate meeting at it, and into the kitchen. She hands him a glass after a minute and he takes it with a, “Thank you,” taking a drink.

“Come,” she says, after he’s swallowed, “Follow me,” and leads the way back out to the doorway and up the stairs.

The upstairs is just as spacious as the downstairs, but Steve still grips his bag closer to him while his eyes wander the walls, into the rooms with doors wide open and even the ones with doors half shut, glimpses into Natasha’s life, into Bucky’s. There’s not a lot to see (except what looked like it might’ve been the bedroom. There were certainly enough clothes all over the floor from what he could see. His eyes lingered longer than he would’ve liked), and it’s not long before they get to where she was leading them, Steve’s socked feet slowing to a stop on the soft carpet.

“What do you think?” Natasha asks, voice soft, quiet; any louder would be a crime.

Steve tightens his grip on his glass when it almost slips.

“It’s beautiful,” he manages, staring up and up and down and all around.

There’s varying paintings on the walls, all over the walls and in different sizes, and he does a full three-sixty turn before his eyes settle on the one straight ahead again, can’t find it in him to look away a second time. She’s not asking about the others, anyway.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsr1YFvtqEE

 

The canvas is at least ten feet high and the painting is minimalist, modern, made up mostly of white with black, sleek ridges and a cresting hill, a small figure of red walking up in the snow and leaving footprints fading into the hill, a red ribbon trailing out behind it. The ribbon gets larger and larger the closer it gets to the bottom left of the canvas, like Red Riding Hood in the snow.

Steve feels like he’s falling into it, can practically feel winter on his cheeks and ice at the ends of his hair.

Natasha doesn’t say anything for a while, just lets Steve stare, take it in, holding the glass close to his chest.

He doesn’t know how long he looks, eyes roaming over the sea of white, the lines of black, the red whipping in the wind with the freezing air, but eventually he comes out of it, eyes shifting to Natasha-

She shifts her eyes from the painting to his, after a moment, inclining her head slightly.

“It’s amazing, Natasha,” Steve says softly, and her lips curve up a little, gentle and a little secretive. It looks nice on her. Steve glances down at the bottom of the canvas and sees the small metal plate with the title of it drilled into the wall.

_‘Girls and Wolves’._

She lets him look at the others: ballet dancers in the middle of their spins, frozen flowers in a jar, bright, slashing colors in red and black and gray.

They’re all beautiful, but he keeps going back to that one.

\--

“How was your day, dear?” Natasha asks sweetly. Bucky closes the door and huffs a breath, sending his bangs up.

“You keep thinking that’s cute,” he replies, taking his shoes off with his feet, toe to heel-toe to heel, before heading for the kitchen. He sets his bag on the dining room table on his way. “It’s not.” Natasha smiles like a catalogue wife and offers her cheek, and Bucky rolls his eyes, but heads over to where she’s seated on a stool and presses a kiss to it before opening the fridge. He pulls out the orange juice and goes for a glass.

She waits until he’s started drinking to say:

“Steve came over today.”

Bucky spits orange juice all over the counter, coughing and sputtering.

“ _What?_ ” he tries to ask, voice scratching. He cringes while he coughs some more. “ _Damn it, Nat_.” She smirks.

“He left something for you,” she adds once Bucky’s breathing has calmed back down. He stills and then darts his eyes around. She pulls the drawer open in front of her and pulls an envelope out, offering it to him. Bucky stares at it for a long minute before slowly walking over, reaching up to gently take it.

“Did you read it?” he asks, forcing his eyes off of the old, familiar, swooped and compact lettering making his heart thud in his chest.

Natasha shakes her head a little, eyes serious.

“No,” she answers, looking down at the envelope, “He asked me not to.” She gets up off of her stool and leaves the kitchen, and Bucky watches her go before dropping his eyes back to the envelope. He swallows, flipping it over and reaching for the corner, hands trembling-

He stops, taking a breath, then wedges his finger under the flap and forces it through the top folding seam. He opens it and pulls the letter out, unfolding it-

His eyes widen and his breath catches in his chest, flipping up the bottom of the first page and quickly dropping his eyes to the bottom of the second to make sure it’s from-

Bucky walks over to the table in a daze, fumbling for a chair before taking a seat, holding the letter over the table and beginning to read.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZ36DfFm93g

 

_Dear Bucky,_

_I don’t want to start this off with ‘by the time you read this, I will be dead’, but, that’s the truth. I’m sorry, dear. I’m sorry you’ll read this and probably blame yourself for not seeing me again before I’ve gone. But I knew, the day Steve told me you left, I knew you wouldn’t be coming back for a long time. I don’t want you to blame yourself for this. I don’t blame you for it, so you shouldn’t either. I love you like you’re my own son. I would never blame you._

_It’s been seven years since Steve or I have seen you, and I’m afraid this will be the last illness I experience in my life. Steve’s away. Military. He grew up strong, my dear, sweet boy. I think you would be proud of him. I know I am, even though him being out there worries me near constantly. Your father, James was his name, too, was in the military as well. He’s part of why I’m writing you this letter._

_I knew your father, and I loved him, my James. I loved him so much I had no words to describe it. He held my universe in his eyes...You reminded me of him. Thought I saw him standing outside my home the first time I laid eyes on you. And I saw the way you were, with Steve, and my heart ached, both at the reminder and because I had a feeling it wouldn’t last, not with the way things are, not if they’re like they were._

_I know Mr. Pierce didn’t tell you much about him, so I wanted to tell you; he loved you, and he’d be proud of you and whoever you’ve become, whether you’re a hermit working a nightshift at a gas station or the reason there’s a cure for cancer. He loved you like nothing I’d ever seen and he would’a been proud of the man you’ve become no matter what, as long as you were happy. He’d never want you doubtin’ yourself or holdin’ yourself back, and I don’t, either. Wherever you are right now, I just want you to be happy, and to do what you need to to get there, and I know he’d want the same, too._

_I loved your father very much, Bucky. I never told you, or Steve, but he asked me out the second time we met, kept on it a whole year, if you can believe it, ‘til I told him about Steve’s father. I loved him, but I couldn’t leave Joseph, even though I...a large part of me loved James, still do, even now. I couldn’t leave Joseph, but a large part of me...a large part of me wanted to._

_I loved James, I was happy he met your mother and had you. He was so happy, and for me, too. I think maybe that’s how we both knew it was a forever love, the way we just wanted each other happy, even if it wasn’t with each other._

_But, Bucky, my dear, my darling heart, not a day went by that I didn’t wish._

_I made a choice, and I hope that wherever you are, if you find yourself in a similar place, I hope that the choice you make is one that you can carry for the rest of your life, through the bad, and through the good._

_I’ll quit my ramblin’, now. Steve’s going to be on leave for a week and I haven’t stopped cleaning whenever I can. It’s getting harder, but I’ll be damned if I let my body keep me from makin’ the house tidy and presentable for our Steve._

_I hope life and love finds you well._

_Love,_

_Sarah_

 

_Drip. Drip-drip._

He sucks in a breath and jerks the papers forward, out of the way, sniffing quietly. He blinks the blurr out of his vision, tears re-spilling warm over his cheeks, and rubs at his face with a hand, sniffing again.

 _Sarah_ , he thinks, vision blurring all over again.

_Our Steve._

_Not a day goes by that I didn’t wish._

Bucky jerks to standing, chair skidding back with the motion, and grabs the envelope off the table, folding the pages carefully and slipping it inside while he leaves the dining room. He slips it very carefully into his jacket pocket before bending and quickly slipping his shoes back on, rubbing a palm against his eyes when he stumbles a little and then quickly ties the laces. He turns for the door, pulling it open-

-

Natasha listens to the door slam shut and a car start, and raises an eyebrow down at her red wine, arm resting along the back of the couch.

“Be back by one,” she mumbles, lips curving up a little against the glass as she takes a sip, eyes going back down to the book in her lap.

\--

“Do not,” Sam starts, and Steve looks up, “I repeat, _do not_ , start season three without me.” Steve’s lips quirk up.

“I’ll try my best,” he replies. Sam’s eyebrows rise.

“Rogers,” he says, “You will damn well try your _hardest_ and watch something else instead. _Bitten_. _Something_.”

Steve makes a face. “[Werewolves](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2546117/chapters/5660663)? I don’t know…”

Sam points at him and Steve raises his hands in mock-surrender. Sam nods after a moment, satisfied, and turns for the door.

Steve lays back on his bed and rests an arm under his head while he listens to Sam go, navigating to Netflix on his laptop. He settles on _The Crow_ , instead, and laces his fingers under his head on his pillow to settle in.

-

He’s thirty minutes in, a frown on his face, when he hears frantic knocking on his door and jerks up, just manages to catch his laptop before it topples to the floor, eyes a little wide. The knocking sounds again and he sets his laptop on the nightstand, jogging over and then slowing to a walk towards the door. He reaches for the door handle and turns it, opening the door a crack before opening it wider, eyes widening with it.

“Bucky?” he asks, and then Bucky lunges forward and Steve tenses, preparing for a fig-

Bucky’s lips clash into his and Steve makes a surprised sound against them, wincing a little when their teeth hit and his lips gets caught between them. He stares at Bucky, wide eyed, and doesn’t blink even when Bucky slowly eases away, heart thudding in his chest, body frozen.

“I can’t do it,” Bucky says, panting, just a little, “Steve, I can’t. I _won’t._ ”

“Bucky, wha-”

“ _I love you_ ,” Bucky blurts, and Steve’s breath catches, the world slowing. Bucky stares at him, eyebrows drawn together and expression almost _pained_. “Steve, I love you. _Eight years_ I _tried_ \- I _can’t_ - _I love you_.” And then Bucky’s lips are on his and he’s pushing, and Steve stumbles back, barely hears the door half-slam shut.

Bucky’s lips move against his and Steve-

Steve doesn’t move. Can’t think, staring at Bucky, through Bucky.

This happened eight years ago, right? Bucky banging on his door, Steve answering. Bucky telling him-

But Bucky’s kissed him twice now, and the door’s closed and Bucky’s _still here_.

Steve’s hands rise, mouth slowly responding on its own, and as soon as his hands rest on Bucky’s shoulders (one harder than the other, and in some part of his mind this registers as strange but he can’t _think_ ), Bucky makes an almost _pained sound_ , pressing into him _harder_. Something in Steve _switches_ and Steve kisses him _back,_ pulls Bucky closer and _kisseshimkisseshimkisseshim_ , _hard_ and _desperate_ and-

_**Eight. Years**._

_Finally_ , some part of Steve thinks, _finally **finally**_.

His knees hit the back of a bed and they fall, only breaking the kiss long enough that they won’t knock their teeth, and then Bucky’s hands are reaching for his shirt, pushing it _up_ -

Steve redirects them and Bucky goes for his jeans, instead, while Steve’s hands roam Bucky’s shoulders, his chest, reach down for his shirt and start tugging it up out of his pants-

Bucky grabs them and pushes them up to the bed and Steve arches up into him, sucking on Bucky’s tongue with a _moan_ when it delves into his mouth. Bucky makes a _ragged_ sound into it and then Bucky’s hands let go and go back to his jeans, getting them undone, zipper loud amidst the sounds of their panting.

Steve feels his cock pulled out and then the sound of a belt buckle, another zipper, then Bucky’s skin is meeting his and they’re both _groaning, hard_ , Bucky grinding _down_ while Steve grinds _up_ , hands back on Bucky’s shoulders.

They fall into a quick rhythm, bodies slotting together. Steve gets a foot on the edge of the bed to help roll his hips up and Bucky sucks on _his_ tongue, breaths puffing hot against his face while he moans, the sounds sending a shudder down Steve’s spine.

Steve spreads his legs wider and one of Bucky’s hands skates down, shifts down and around and grips his ass, _pulling_ him closer each time Steve rocks his hips up. Steve _moans_ in return, the sounds going louder and higher the closer he gets, feels the heat building, _building_ -

Steve throws his head back with a half- _shout_ when he comes, clawing at Bucky’s shirt and gritting his teeth while his toes curl, body trembling with the force of it. Bucky’s hips speed up and grind him through it and then he’s coming, _too_ with a moan _punched_ out of him, cum spurting up and slowly soaking into Steve’s shirt.

Bucky collapses on top of him and they both pant hard, just trying to _breathe_.

Steve’s head slowly starts to clear out of the fog, the drift-

His eyes snap open and he stills, feels Bucky’s body freeze too-

Steve _shoves_ him off onto the floor, jerking up.

“ _What the hell?_ ” he demands, “You can’t just- You can’t just _come into my dorm after eight years and give me a God damned orgasm!_ What the _hell, Barnes?_ ”

Bucky stares up at him, a strand of bangs hanging long and loose between his eyes where he’s on his ass on the floor, hands braced to hold him up and cock out for Steve to se-

Steve forces his eyes up, frowning hard.

“I-” Bucky stops, frowning. His lips slowly curve up into an old smirk and Steve’s heart does that _**stupid** skip_. “You _liked_ it.” Steve flushes.

“Shut up!” he half-shouts back, and Bucky’s lips twitch, “That’s besides the damn point!” Bucky’s smirk widens. “Get out!” Bucky’s smirk fades.

“Steve-” he starts.

“ _Get out_ ,” Steve repeats, firm, flushing when he realizes- He quickly tucks himself back into his pants, zipping them up and buttoning them. Bucky just stares up at him and Steve frowns harder, trying to hold himself together. “Get-”

“I love you,” Bucky says, simple as that, and just as simply, Steve’s walls of eight years in the damn making fucking _crumble_.

“Buck-”

Bucky quickly stands, stepping in close. Steve takes a step back but Bucky just keeps coming, backing him against the wall.

“I love you,” he whispers, breath ghosting across Steve’s lips, “ _Eight years_ ,” he says emphatically, and Steve’s eyes sting, start to water, “ _Fuck_ , _I love you_. _**Fuck**_ ,” and then Bucky’s kissing him again and Steve hears a _whimper_ , feels it come up from the back of his throat. His hands go to Bucky’s waist and Bucky presses in closer, presses him all up against the wall with nowhere else for him to go.

“Buck,” Steve’s voice cracks, and the kisses soften, make him feel as fragile as he did when he was _eighteen_ , “ _What are you doing?_ ” Steve whispers when they finally slow to a stop, cracking his eyes open, “ _What are we doing?_ ” Bucky just looks at him for a minute, resolute and torn all at once.

_I made a choice, and I hope that wherever you are, if you find yourself in a similar place, I hope that the choice you make is one that you can carry for the rest of your life, through the bad, and through the good._

Bucky closes his eyes.

“ _I’ll tell you_ ,” he says, soft and low, “I’ll tell you everything.”

And Steve feels himself _break_.


	17. The weight of living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Homophobia in the form of violence and some self loathing.

“When I was fourteen, I met this boy,” Bucky starts, sitting on the edge of his bed. Steve crosses his arms and Bucky looks up. “It was my last year of middle school, and he came over to my house to hang out.”

Steve shifts his weight to his other foot, listening.

“I’d liked him for maybe about a month by then,” Bucky continues, eyes dropping to the floor, “I liked him a lot. I mean, not- It was a crush. Stupid and all consuming, but it felt _amazing_ when he said he’d come over to hang out, and it felt even better when I leaned in to kiss him on the couch and he kissed me _back._ ” Bucky’s lips twitch up and Steve waits, watches, slowly frowning when he sees Bucky’s small smile disappear. “Then, um...You remember Pierce?” he asks, and Steve frowns a little more when Bucky looks up.

“Yeah,” Steve replies slowly, eyes widening a little as dread starts to settle in, “He didn’t-”

Bucky glances up at him again and Steve cuts himself off at the look on his face, the rueful little twist to his mouth.

“He politely asked the boy to go home, that he had something I needed to do before dinner, and after...well,” Bucky says, “To say he tried to ‘beat it out of me’ would probably be putting it lightly. I couldn’t go to school for a week,” Bucky finishes, quieter. Steve’s fingers curl into fists where his arms are still crossed, toes curling down hard into the carpet. Bucky shifts his forearms to his thighs and laces his fingers together between his knees, looking down at them.

“I’ve been living with Pierce since I was about ten,” he continues, “My mom couldn’t...we were homeless by the time I was seven. I was taken in by social services when I was caught trying to pickpocket some cash off this guy. I found out she died a few years after that, got into...got into some stuff. I don’t…” Bucky takes a slow breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head a little. “Pierce was a family friend, apparently,“ he continues, “Took me in when none of my relatives would and I’d been with him since.” Bucky pauses, taking a slow breath. “There was another boy during the summer, because- I hadn’t ‘learned my lesson’,” Bucky quotes, grimacing a little. Steve curls his fists tighter. “And I spent another week locked in my room. No internet, no socializing, no leaving the room, not that I would, lookin’ the way I did, all bruised and banged up.” Bucky smiles again, small and dark. Steve doesn’t like it. “After that, Pierce made sure I invited any male friends I had over- Yes, even Stark,” Bucky cuts him off when Steve opens his mouth, “If he even _suspected_ I was foolin’ around with any of them, he’d take me down to the basement floor and teach me otherwise. _Remind_ me.”

“Buck…” Steve trails off quietly, eyebrows drawn together. Bucky smiles a little ruefully again, looking down at his hands.

“He’s been tryin’ to groom me to take over for him ever since I got there,” he says, sitting up and gesturing at himself, “Like with these suits. Started the week I started staying with him. Hates the hair I have now, though,” Bucky adds with a small smirk. “Anyway,” he continues, more serious, looking back up, “Then I met you.”

Steve tightens his arms a little around himself. Bucky’s expression goes soft and Steve presses his lips firmly together to keep himself from saying anything, doing anything.

“Swear, when I realized it, hit me like a damn slow wave, nothin’ like a truck. Nothing like a truck at all. I _loved_ hanging out with you. I loved who you were, who you _are._ I loved quoting old movies with you and making you watch and read all the Harry Potter’s.” Steve can’t hold in a quiet laugh and it’s worth it to see Bucky smile. “Damn prickly little porcupine,” Bucky teases softly, “Makin’ my life seem...really not that bad, after all, not since you were in it with your art and your tattoos and your righteous anger, paintin’ my world all these amazing colors and makin’ me...making me want to _be_ better, to _feel_ what I-...what I kept tryin’ not to.” Bucky swallows and Steve tries to force back the sting at the backs of his eyes. “And damn, Steve, I was _so scared_. I couldn’t _do_ that, _**be**_ _**that**_. But there you were, and there I was, and I couldn’t stop.”

Steve takes a breath. “This is my fault?” he asks quietly, because even-...even with all this, he’s still- He’s still angry. Hurt. He’s hurt. Steve’s learned; just because someone else hurts, doesn’t mean _his_ hurt doesn’t hurt _him_ , _too_. It doesn’t cancel it out, and it doesn’t...it doesn’t erase that Bucky caused it.

“ _No_ ,” Bucky says immediately, then, softer, “No. I’m the one who went to your apartment. I knew-...well, I didn’t know, but...I felt...thought that you might...too…” he trails off, eyes dropping. “So I…” he swallows, “Then I walked around for ten minutes before calling Nat. I told her what I did and she asked me what I wanted to do. And I- I’m a coward, Steve,” he says, cringing a little, “I’m such a damn coward. I knew my options: Tell Pierce, deal with the pain, pretend nothing happened between us, or tell him and _not_ pretend, deal with the pain, and end up on the street.”

Steve swallows.

“Or...do what I did,” Bucky finishes.

Steve shifts his weight again.

“And Natasha?” he asks quietly. Bucky blinks a little.

“I wasn’t expecting Nat to come with me, or for us to…” he gestures vaguely with a hand and then lifts his right one, wiggling his ring finger. The metal glints under the light. “We’re not...we’re only married on paper, for appearances,” Bucky continues, looking up, “Nat and I tried, before. We decided we were better as friends. The arrangement worked for her, too, since her father was looking to find someone for her, had it all planned out minus the fact that she ran away to _here_ on the reasoning that she needed to ‘ _see the world_ ’ and ‘ _get out her adventurous spirit before being tied down_ ’. He was surprised to see me,” he tries to joke, the joke coming out flat. He clears his throat when Steve just looks at him. “But not disappointed.”

It’s quiet for a minute.

“Honestly, I think she’s always liked Clint,” Bucky adds, looking off at the wall, “But Clint’s from nothing. No real family, no money, and I’m…” Bucky snorts derisively, “I’m from ‘ _something worth noting_ ’.”

 _Silence_.

Steve takes a slow breath.

Bucky looks back up at him.

“I meant what I said,” he says, quiet but firm. Steve presses his lips flat again, trying to steel himself. “I’ve loved you since we were in high school,” Bucky continues, “I tried to make the feelings go away and I couldn’t. I dropped out of college to join the military. The feelings went away for a while. I thought I was fine. I thought they were gone when- with everything that happened over there.” Bucky’s left hand curls into a fist, leather stretching softly in the silence. Steve glances to it briefly and then back up to Bucky, heartbeat picking up. “But then I saw you,” Bucky says, softer, eyes on his, “In that pub. And _that_ , that felt like a truck.”

Steve swallows, eyes stinging again. He takes a quick breath and turns around, squeezing his eyes shut while he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He hears Bucky stand up but doesn’t hear him come closer.

“I know I’m a coward,” Bucky says quietly, “And a real piece of shit for doing this to you, for hurting you. For hurting you for _eight years_ and then coming into your life like- _.._. I won’t be surprised if you tell me to go and never want to see me again.” Steve hears him swallow. “You deserve better, I just...I read the letter, from your mom.” Steve stands a little taller, body tensing a bit. Bucky laughs quietly. “Trust her to give me the kick in the ass I needed, even now.” Steve can almost see her, just like he can almost picture Bucky’s smile fading behind him. “I had to come here,” Bucky near whispers, “I had to do what I couldn’t do then. I had to tell you, before I could never tell you again. And I-”

“Please, stop,” Steve whispers, shoulders curled inwards.

Bucky does.

It’s all...it’s all too much. He needs a break. He needs to _think_.

“Steve, _I’m so sorry_ ,” Bucky chokes out after a few moments. Steve’s eyes sting _harder_. He shakes his head, sucking in a quick breath and opening his eyes, looking up at the ceiling with blurry vision, arms more wrapped around himself now than crossed.

“No,” Steve says, turning around and finally looking at him, blinking a few times.

Bucky looks back, eyes a little wide and wet under the light, fists curled at his sides like he’s ready for a _fight_ and ready to _run_. Maybe some combination of both.

Steve shakes his head again, fully turning around to face him. “Buck, don’t- That’s not…” he closes his eyes for a moment, sniffing quietly. “You can’t...what Pierce did? That is _not your fault_ ,” Steve says vehemently, anger spiking again before he tries to force it to settle. “The pain you went through? Don’t- Don’t apologize for that.”

“But I _do_ have something to apologize for,” Bucky says, eyes softening. Steve looks to the side, wiping at his eyes after a moment with the palm of a hand.

“I don’t know if I- Bucky, it’s been _eight years_ ,” Steve says, forcing himself to look back at him. Bucky’s expression crumples. “We’re both-...We’re both _different_ now,” Steve continues, “Things have _changed_. _**We’ve** **changed**_. I don’t-...I don’t know if we should...do this...” he trails off, gesturing a little between them helplessly with a hand before wrapping his arm back around himself. “We’re not who we used to be. Things aren’t what they used to be and we...we don’t really even _know_ each other anymore. I don’t know if-...I need time to think,” Steve finishes, softer.

Bucky nods, eyes dropping to the floor.

“Okay,” he says quietly, moving to take a step, pausing briefly before actually taking it, making to pass him and then stopping. “Steve,” he says quietly, and Steve forces his eyes back up from where they’ve dropped to the floor to look over at him.

Bucky opens his mouth, closes it.

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, almost a whisper, getting it, and Bucky swallows, looking down before continuing past him.

Steve hears the door handle after a moment and then the quiet _creak_ of the door opening. It’s quiet for another few moments and he feels eyes on his back, before he hears the door close and _click_ shut.

His hands start trembling and his throat starts closing up as soon as it does, and he brings his hands up to cover his face, muffling a quiet sob against his own skin.

\--

Steve goes through the motions.

He goes down the hall to take a shower, brush his teeth, change into his pajamas, then takes out his contact lens and heads back to his dorm and slides into bed.

He stares up at the ceiling.

He feels strangely calm.

As horrible as it all was, he finally got the answer he’d been looking for, got _more_ than the answer he’d been looking for. He got just about all of them.

Bucky loved him. Bucky decided to go. And Steve can’t blame him, not really, not after finding out _why_. Hell, if he’d had to choose over being homeless and not, he-...

If he’d had to choose over having a roof over his and his mother’s heads or chasing love at _eighteen_ , he knows what he would have chosen. And maybe Bucky hadn’t been doing it for his mother, not completely, but...Steve can’t blame him for it. But-

What he _does_ blame Bucky for is not _telling him_. He didn’t tell him a _thing_. He just-...He just _kissed him_ and then ran to _Russia_. _With Nat._ Who he’s still-...

Who he’s _still married to_. Oh, God, he’s _still_ married to Nat. On paper or not, Steve had sex with a _married man_ , one of Sam’s _teachers_.

Steve covers his face with his hands, pulling at his bangs.

He-

He pauses.

He lets go of his bangs and lowers his hands, frowning up at the ceiling.

Why _is_ Bucky still married to Nat? He didn’t...he didn’t say why, and Steve was too overwhelmed to think to ask. Is it Pierce? But Bucky’s practically _thirty_ now (twenty-eight, to be exact. Not that he counted). Why is he...?

Steve blows out a breath.

He finally got the answer to the question that kept him up at night when he was eighteen. Now he’s twenty-six and he has _more_ questions.

Like about Pierce, Bucky’s left hand, the gloves.

Steve sighs and rolls over onto his side, sliding a hand up underneath his pillow, touching the knife hilt there.

He closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

-

He doesn’t.

-

She sees headlights flash out of the corner of her eye and hears a car stop outside, then the engine cut out. A few moments later she hears the front door open.

“You’re back early,” she calls, turning the page. She hears keys drop to the hall table and then the sound of shoes thumping against a wall. He slinks into her periphery a couple moments later.

Bucky shuffles to the end of the couch and then _drops_ back, landing with a _plop_ , feet hanging over the armrest.

“That bad?” she asks, glancing up after she turns the page, trying to gauge what condition he’s in.

“I told him everything,” Bucky says, quiet and rough.

“Everything?” she asks. Bucky pauses, curling his left fingers a little.

“Almost everything,” he amends.

It’s quiet for a minute.

Bucky reaches his hands up and covers his face with them. “He hates me.”

She considers for a few moments and then decides on a course of action and closes her book, reaching over to set it down on the low table, resettling in. “It’s been eight years, James.”

“I _know that, Natalia!_ ” Bucky bursts out, sitting up sharply. “Fuckin’ _eight years_ of me trying to _get him out of my head!_ And I did! I _did_ get him out! I stopped thinking about him, I stopped letting shit remind me of him, I ignored all of it and moved on! Even this- this-” He throws his left arm out, gesturing wildly with it, “This _monstrosity on me_. It _helped me **forget** about him_.” He stops, breathing harder, gloved fists tense in the air.

He slowly lowers them after a few moments, shoulders lowering with them.

“And then...then I _saw him_ ,” he continues, softer, quieter, a little broken, head bowing away from her, “I saw him and I remembered-...I remembered his inhaler, his drawings, the tattoo under his hair and the one on his arm. I remembered the way he laughed, the way he smiled, the way it felt when I-...when I kissed him. The way he _smelled_.” Bucky raises his hands again and covers his face, hunching inward. “ _God_ ,” he says, muffled, “I remembered almost _everything_.”

She watches him, listening.

“My heart...did that stupid skip it always did whenever he looked at me,” Bucky says, dragging his hands down his face, “And then-...then I read that letter,” he adds, voice cracking quietly, “God, Sarah. I told you about her. It was from her.”

Natasha’s brows draw together a little before evening out, glancing down at her lap for a moment before looking back up.

“‘ _Whatever choice you make, make sure you can live with it for the rest of your life, through the good and the bad_ ’,” he paraphrases, dropping back to the couch and staring up at the ceiling, eyes red. “I couldn’t hold it in anymore,” he says quietly as she shifts forward, “I couldn’t, Natalia. I _tried_ ,” his voice cracks again and he closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. She leans down a little and brushes her fingers along his cheek. He turns his face towards them before blinking his eyes open and looking up. “I love that stupid punk,” he says, swallows, “And I might never-...” he trails off, shaking his head a little, closing his eyes when she starts running her fingers gently through his hair.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” she says, calm and quiet, like the ocean beneath his storm. He huffs a quiet breath, reaching up catch her hand in his and turning his head to press a kiss to it.

“‘You and me against the world’,” he says quietly, and her lips curve up.

“You and me, James,” she agrees, “Through sickness and in health. Through better or worse.” He looks back up, and she finally gets him to crack a smile.

\--

Steve hears Sam come back, hears the door open and close quietly and Sam’s steps almost silent on the carpet. He hears shoes hit the carpet and the sound of a drawer, clothes shifting and rustling before the drawer closes again. He hears steps get nearer and then bedding shift before a quiet sigh.

Steve stares at the wall.

“Why in the hell are you awake,” Sam says, “Staring at the wall. I can hear you breathing regular over there, Rogers.” Steve’s lips twitch, just a little.

“Bucky came over a few hours ago,” Steve replies, and listens to the responding silence.

“And?” Sam asks.

“We had sex,” Steve answers, hears bedding shift.

“ _Steve_ ,” Sam complains. Steve’s lips twitch again, briefly.

He turns around so he can face Sam, even though he’s a dark blur across the room.

“He told me why he left,” Steve says, quieter.

 _Silence_.

“He told me he loved me.”

“...Huh,” Sam replies after a moment, and Steve gives a quiet, responding hum, “How do _you_ feel?” Steve glances down, pondering that, still can’t get the whole thing out of his head, can’t stop replaying it over and over and over.

“I don’t know,” he answers quietly, “Eight years ago I would’ve said I loved him, now…” Steve pulls the sheets and his knees up a bit closer to his chest. “Now, I still do, but...but he’s still married to Natasha, so whatever...whatever’s going on with him seems to still be happening, and I’m still left standing here with the door wide open, unable to see where he’s gone off to and unable to follow. Again,” he finishes, quieter.

Because he _is,_ isn’t he? Bucky still seems to be in the same situation, even if Bucky _has_ admitted everything to him. He’s still married to Natasha, he’s still wearing those suits, he’s still-...he’s still doing what he’s always done, just being a little more honest about it with him. Nothing’s really changed, except that, and that...that doesn’t really change anything. They’re still both stuck here in the same situation they were before Bucky did or told him _anything_.

“Sounds to me like you two need to talk,” Sam says after a long minute, and Steve shifts his eyes back up, drug out of his thoughts, “If he told you the _why_ , you two should now probably be talking about the _how_. I mean, if you want to. _Do_ you want to try anything with him?”

_"I won’t be surprised if you tell me to go and never want to see me again. You deserve better, I just...I read the letter, from your mom.” Bucky laughs quietly. “Trust her to give me the kick in the ass I needed, even now.”_

“I...I don’t know,” Steve replies, still quiet, “I don’t know if-...it _hurt_ , Sam.” Steve curls up a bit more, the backs of his eyes stinging. “I know it’s stupid. It’s been _years_. But it-...seeing him again-” his voice cracks and Steve stops, sniffing quietly into his sheets. And it’s _worse_ now, because of what they did, because Bucky told him.

He hears Sam shift, after a moment, then the sound of fabric rustling and then footsteps moving in close. He feels a gentle nudge and scoots back, letting go of the covers so Sam can slide in.

“Hey,” Sam says quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder. Steve scoots closer and Sam wraps his arm around him, pulling him close. “First loves are hard,” Sam says softly, and Steve sniffs quietly again, “They hit you hard, and then they leave you scrambling. They’re either that first, big balloon ride that never stops, or your first, big scar.” Steve sniffs again.

“Please tell me I wasn’t your first,” he tries to joke, voice rough, “I’m a terrible first.” Sam laughs quietly and it makes Steve feel better. He lets his eyes close, warm spilling down his cheeks, down across the bridge of his nose.

“Nah,” Sam replies, “You weren’t my first. But you wouldn’t be a ‘terrible’ one.” Steve huffs a quiet breath and feels lips press to his forehead, then Sam’s forehead against his own. “Whatever you decide,” he says quietly after a minute, “I’ll be here. You know I’ll always have your back, just like you’ve always had mine.” Steve lets that sit and settle for a minute, closing his eyes and just feeling Sam’s warmth slowly consume the space between them.

“Why didn’t we ever get together?” Steve finds himself asking quietly, opening his eyes and looking back up. He can see Sam this close, even without his contacts and in the dark.

Sam’s eyes soften.

“You mean besides because of ‘Mr. Doucheface’?” he asks, gently teasing. Steve ducks his head slightly and shoves at him a little beneath the sheets, and Sam laughs quietly. “Just didn’t work with the timing, I guess,” Sam answers more seriously after a moment, “You were still trying to get over Barnes, I met Riley, you met Peggy, I _lost_ Riley,” he finishes quieter. Steve closes his eyes at that, feels Sam shrug a little after a minute. “A lot happened. A lot’s still _happening_. We just...didn’t ever get the timing right.”

“I think we would’ve been happy,” Steve finally says after a minute, soft and quiet, and Sam pulls him a little closer.

“Yeah,” he replies, just as quiet. Steve can hear the smile in his voice. “I don’t doubt that, even _with_ you being the pain in the ass I love and know you to be.” Steve shoves at him again, lips curving up without his permission, and Sam laughs again quietly, not letting go. He’s never let go of anything, not once, not for anything. “If we ever do get the timing right,” Sam says after a few moments, and Steve looks back up, “That door’s always still open.”

Steve smiles, slow and warm, and nods, finally closing his eyes and starting to drift.

He falls asleep to the sound of Sam breathing and birds singing outside.


	18. I am the storm

Steve sticks close with Sam for the next day, when they can. The day after that, he spends some time with himself. He goes job hunting, takes himself down to a cafe near campus, and just...tries to draw. 

Most of them turn into Bucky, and Steve tries to fight the urge to scribble all over them and throw them away. It’s bittersweet, looking at Bucky at all. 

Steve hasn’t seen him around since the night Bucky came to see him, Natasha either, and Clint hasn’t made any invitations to change that, and Steve...appreciates it. He needs time to himself, time to sort out his thoughts, time to _make_ thoughts, and the space to do it.

So he lets himself draw Bucky, or tries to (sometimes he just ends up slamming his sketchbook closed and ‘ _staring as broodily as Batman into your coffee, Steve_ ’, as Sam says), and replays that night over and over and over again in his head, almost like he’s stuck on a hamster wheel, and tries to...figure out how he _feels_ , and what he needs to do, to ask, to know. He knows he doesn’t have all the pieces yet about Bucky, about Nat and Pierce, and Bucky...Bucky doesn’t have all the pieces about him yet, either. 

Sam, as usual, was right. 

The longer he spends stewing over it all, the more he sees their conversation in different lights, noticing things he wasn’t able to at the time, thinking of things and in directions he couldn’t manage with the way he was, the way Bucky was. 

They need to talk.

\--

He pushes open the passenger door and gets out of the car, staring up. The other door shuts and he moves to do the same, eyes shifting to watch her round the front of the car.

“Ready?” she asks, eyes sharp.

Steve nods, but she doesn’t lead the way, just turns more towards and studies him.

“Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t hurt him,” Steve says, not asks, because he knows protection when he sees it, is all too familiar with it, even with someone as subtle as Natasha.

She inclines her head slightly.

“You brought this upon yourselves,” she replies, and Steve presses his lips together a bit. “But,” she adds, still watching him, “How much pain you both want to keep enduring and how you want this to go is up to you.” She turns and starts walking and Steve watches her, fingers curling into fists before he uncurls them and moves to follow.

“ _Hey!_ ” he hears once he's just inside the door, " _He's on his way. What's our strate-_ Steve,” Bucky cuts himself off as he comes to a stop in the doorway, drying his hands off on a dish towel, right sleeve rolled up and eyes wide. Natasha keeps walking, turns left and past him to head into the kitchen. 

“I'll handle the rest,” she says as she goes, disappearing around the corner. Steve glances to her just before she disappears and then back to Bucky. 

“Is now a bad time…?” he asks.

“I- _No_ , no,” Bucky reassures, quickly stepping forward and then stopping, eyes dropping to the towel. He tosses it on the center hall table before walking across the hall and gesturing into what looks like the living room. “Let’s talk?” he asks, hopeful, and Steve nods, walking into the room, Bucky watching him the whole time and quick to follow. 

Bucky gestures to the couch and Steve slowly takes a seat, Bucky doing the same three seat cushions away, careful to give him space. 

They look at each other for a long minute before Steve lets out a breath, eyes dropping to his hands in his lap.

“I've been thinkin’ a lot,” he starts, brow furrowing a little, “I...Do you want this?” he asks, looking over at Bucky, “Do you really want this?” 

“Yes,” Bucky says immediately, leaning towards him a bit, “Yes, I do. I want this.”

“No more lies?” Steve asks, fingers curling a bit, “No more secrets?”

Bucky shakes his head, left glove squeaking faintly as his own fingers curl. “No more secrets.”

“I mean it, Bucky,” Steve says, turning more towards him, “Whatever’s going on. If it could affect... _this_ , I need to know.” Bucky looks at him for a long moment before nodding slowly, sitting back and looking down.

“I'll...tell you. I'll tell you the rest. I'll tell you-” he's cut off by a knock at the door, both of them turning to look. “Shit,” Bucky sighs, “He's here _early_. He's never early.” He gets up and looks at Steve. “I will tell you, Stevie,” he promises, and damn Steve’s heart for melting.

He gets up and follows Bucky to the door, stopping at the doorway to the center hall. Bucky opens the door and Steve stares, blinking slow.

“Stark?” he asks. 

“Steve!” Tony lets out in the middle of yanking Bucky into tight hug, heading straight for Steve next to do the same. Steve lets out a slightly _strangled_ sound and then Tony pulls away, patting him on the shoulder. “Long time no see, Rogers! How's college life?” 

Steve frowns.

“You’re not spying on me again, are you?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

“What? _No_. Of course not,” Tony laughs with a brief cough on the end. Steve crosses his arms while Bucky looks between the two, lips pressing together. 

“Oh my God,” Steve says, looking between the two of them, “ _Oh my God_ , Bucky, you didn't.” Bucky nibbles on his lower lip, brows drawn together. “Did you have Tony _spy on me?_ ”

“No!” Bucky lets out, at the same time Tony says:

“Nope! That was all me,” with a grin. Steve’s eyes dart between the two. “What?” Tony asks, “I was worried! Aaand maybe I let Barnes know how you were doing every once in a few years,” he finishes innocently. 

Steve stares. 

“I never said how I care was _healthy_ ,” Tony adds, “Talk to Pepper.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “You've been spying on me ever since-” he cuts himself off, looking up.

“Yup,” Tony replies without him finishing, expression relaxed but eyes serious. Now Bucky glances between the two of them, frowning. 

“Since…?” he trails off. Steve tenses a little-

“Dinner time,” Natasha from behind Bucky, making them all jump. She smirks just a bit and leads the way into the dining room. 

-

Natasha takes the seat at the head of the table, Bucky at her left and Steve at her right, Tony on Bucky’s left. Bucky stares across at Steve and tries to just- breathe.

God, this is the most awkward dinner he's ever had. 

Well, no, that's not exactly true.

Tony leans over and Bucky can practically _feel_ his attempt at hiding his smirk.

Oh, God.

“Rogers got _hot_ ,” Tony says low in his ear. _Oh, God_. “ _Please_ tell me you're hitting that.”

Bucky takes a bite of his chicken. “Why are we friends,” he bemoans quietly. 

“Because it's difficult in life to find that special someone who speaks my level of chemistry and engineering and mechanics,” Tony replies grandly. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Two words,” he says, taking another bite and raising an eyebrow, “Bruce Banner.” 

Tony _gasps_.

“Well,” he replies, relaxing again and taking a bite of his own chicken, “If you can get him to come in from Brazil, I'd be _happy_ to collab with him.” Bucky smirks a little and when he looks forward, Steve's watching him with a small smile. Bucky lets his smirk melt into one back.

The doorbell rings and they all still.

Steve frowns, looking towards the doorway. “Are you expecting anyone else?” Bucky shakes his head while Natasha pushes her chair back, heading for the door. 

Steve hears Natasha’s and a lower pitched voice for a few moments and then the front door shut. He sits up a little straighter, then his eyes widen when Alexander Pierce walks into the room, Natasha leading. 

Her expression’s calm, neutral, blank. 

“Sorry, if I'm interrupting,” he says, Natasha gesturing to the table. He takes the seat next to Steve while Bucky scrambles up out of his own and into the kitchen, setting a neatly put together plate down for him a few minutes later and then darting back into the kitchen to get a glass.

“Not at all,” Natasha replies smoothly while Steve watches him out of the corner of his eye.

“Mr. Stark,” Pierce greets politely.

“Pierce,” Stark replies, taking a sip of his water. 

“Mr. Rogers,” Pierce greets next, and Steve keeps himself from tensing, “I haven't seen you for some time. I was sorry, to hear about Sarah.” Steve _does_ tense at that, Bucky stuttering briefly before he comes back into view and takes his seat.

“Thank you,” Steve replies calmly, as calmly as he can, taking his own drink.

Pierce is older, but still much the same. His body's more frail, smaller, less of an intimidating figure (though Steve is also _bigger_ than he was the last time they met), and there's more lines on his face, but those are the only things that really show his aging. His eyes are still sharp and...enigmatic.

They eat in silence for a few minutes. 

“So,” Tony starts, leaning an elbow on the arm of his chair, “What occasion has you coming down to grace us with your presence?” Bucky stays relaxed, but Steve can see the tension around his eyes, barely concealed. 

“I just wanted to check in on my son and my daughter in law,” Pierce replies calmly with an almost serene smile. It makes _unease_ prickle up Steve’s spine. “What brings you down from your Tower, Mr. Stark?” he asks, taking a bite with eyes on Tony.

“I was _invited_ over by a friend for dinner, of course,” Tony answers, smirk a little sharp. Pierce _hums_ quietly, noncommittally, swirling the water in his glass.

“May I have some wine, James,” he says more than asks, and Bucky glances over at Steve for the briefest moment before nodding and getting up. “I heard you were wounded during your time in the military,” Pierce says, looking over. Steve looks back. “I'm glad to see you're doing well.”

“Thank you,” Steve replies, keeping the tension out of his voice, if not his hands. “How did you hear about that.”

“Oh, just around,” Pierce says with a small smile, thanking Bucky when he sets down a filled glass, heading back to the kitchen. “My father served in the Hundred and First,” he continues, “I still hear things off and on that go on in the system.”

 _He's been keeping tabs on me_ , Steve realizes, still watching him while Pierce looks back down to his food, _The man who beat Bucky’s been keeping tabs on all of us_. _That's why he's here_.

Bucky takes his seat again and they eat for another minute before Pierce says:

“I hear you're working on an art degree.” Steve almost drops his fork. “James has been teaching at the college for some time. It's almost time for him to...move on,” he adds, not so subtle, not to Steve, “He's going to take over the family company soon, and his play time will come to an end. If you had plans to see much of him beyond the rest of this semester...well, I hope you understand why that'll have to be cut short.”

Steve stares down at his plate, glancing up. 

Bucky’s staring down at his own, expression blank but fingers tense on his silverware, the left slightly dented. 

Steve cuts off another piece of his chicken.

“That’s going to be kind of hard,” he says calmly, “Since we're fucking.” He takes a bite to the sound of silverware clattering, Bucky’s eyes wide on him. Steve swallows his bite and takes a sip of water while looking over at Pierce, who stares back.

“Well,” Tony says after a tense, silent minute, “Dessert?”

\--

“WHAT THE _FUCK_ DID YOU DO THAT FOR?” Bucky shouts.

Steve’s fingers curl into fists.

“He was walking all over you and making decisions about your life, _our_ _life_ , and I wasn't just going to sit there and _let him!_ ” his voice gradually rises to its own shout right _back_ , “ _He's done enough!_ ”

“That's not- _You can't just do things like that Steve!_ ” Bucky yells back, his own fists tightening while he takes a step forward. 

“That man has been walking all over you since you were _TEN YEARS OLD!_ ” Steve yells, pointing towards the door, “I can't make you face that but this isn't just about YOU anymore it's about US, and I'M not going to sit in there and LISTEN TO HIM tell us how things are going to be when he's not IN our relationship, _WE ARE_. And Bucky,” he adds, Bucky’s teeth grit, “You are almost fucking _thirty years old_ , so fucking _take control of your life_ and _ACT LIKE IT!_ ”

Bucky stares at him for a minute, eyes wide, and then storms off into the living room with a _growl_. Steve stares after him before storming off in the other direction back into the dining room to help Nat clean up. 

He's careful not to slam any dishes down on the counter, but it's an exercise in control. Nat plugs the sink up and starts filling it with soapy water.

“Think I was out of line?” Steve asks quietly after a few minutes, watching the sink fill up. He looks over and she looks back.

“Maybe,” she says, turning the faucet off, “But I think he needed to hear it.”

“You've never told him?” he asks, while she digs out a sponge.

“Not in so many words,” she replies, lips quirking, “And not like that.” She hands him the sponge and he takes it. “Do the dishes, Rogers,” she says, patting his shoulder before she goes, which actually means: _Work out some of that aggression_. 

He reaches for a dish and starts scrubbing. 

\--

 _“My father served in the Hundred and First,”_ Pierce had said, standing at the door, _“I know all about military men, and I know about the mission.”_

_The one with the children Nat mentioned to him from Clint?_

_“Then you know I've faced worse than you,”_ Steve had replied, before closing the door in his face. 

That's one of the few times Bucky’s ever been so exhilarated, and terrified. 

He curls his left fingers into a fist, watches the leather stretch and tries to think, but all he can really do is... _feel_.

“Rogers really cares about you,” Stark says, looking out the back wall of windows, hands in his pockets. “I've seen him in some tough shit these past few years, but he never gets like that unless he means it.”

“He doesn’t do _anything_ unless he means it,” Bucky says quietly, Stark snorting quietly and turning in his periphery. 

“He's right, though,” Tony says, voice softer, “Pierce _has_ done enough. Think it's time for you to do what you want to.” 

“Easier said than done,” Bucky sighs, sitting up and looking up at him.

“Just gotta stop thinking,” Tony grins, “Or think about something else _more_.”

Bucky smiles a little at that, listening to the distant _clanking_ from what he's guessing is the kitchen. Nat never washes the dishes by hand. It must be...

“Like him?” he asks softly, and whether he means thinking of Steve or thinking _like_ Steve, Bucky’s not sure. Maybe both.

Stark just keeps grinning and Bucky huffs a quiet laugh, nodding. Tony moves to go, but pauses.

“My offer still stands,” he says, low and quiet, eyes serious. Bucky flexes his left hand. “That offer’s always open.”

“I know,” Bucky replies, looking up at him, “Thanks. I might...take you up on it, one of these days.” That's all he can say right now, for himself. 

Tony nods, gently patting him on his left shoulder and gripping it for a moment before going. 

Bucky listens to the front door open and Tony and Natasha’s voices talking briefly before the door closes. She doesn't come to him, like he half thought she might, which means she's giving him space to deal with this and that he's on his own. He does hear steps after a while, but they're too heavy to be Nat’s. 

He looks up, watches Steve’s reflection in the glass and then sees him in his periphery. 

“You want me to go?” Steve asks quietly. Bucky shakes his head before Steve’s even finished.

“No,” he replies, just as quiet, the backs of his eyes stinging, “No. I never want you to go.” Steve looks over to him at that and Bucky makes himself look back. He blinks and a tear escapes. He's mortified, somewhere deep down, but mostly he's just…

He stands up after a minute of them looking at each other, watching each other, and starts unbuttoning his vest, then his shirt, feels Steve watching him quietly. He pulls his vest and shirt off and lets them drop to the floor, pulling his glove off, after. 

He takes a breath, steels himself, and makes himself look up, and Steve’s wide eyes stare back, slowly shifting slightly to take it in.

“I lost it on a mission in Russia,” Bucky starts quietly, metal plates shifting as he flexes his left arm, looking down to watch, “I had amnesia for a bit when I woke up. Couldn't remember anything. Tony actually showed up first, offered to help me by building me a new arm, then Pierce showed up and insisted that he use _his_ tech, _his_ companies, ‘ _We'll handle this within our own family_ ’. He... _owns_ me, Steve.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, quiet and... _heartbroken_. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, more warmth spilling out under his lids.

“The bitch of it is,” he makes himself continue, voice rough, “It didn't take me long to recognize Tony, but even _before_ I did, I _**wanted**_ his help, _**his**_ help, _not_ Pierce’s. But he... _ **forced**_ this on me, anyway. Waved my rights as unfit because of the amnesia and used his position as my guardian. I didn't _**want** it_.” Bucky cringes. “And _**God**_ , it hurt. But then...then I had a left arm again, and Pierce just patted me on the shoulder like I _did a good job_.” He shakes his head. 

“I'm not blind,” he continues, “I know he just sees me as a tool and that this was just another way to put me further under his thumb, but it...it worked. I _am_ under his thumb. I don't...I don't wanna be anymore,” Bucky chokes out, “I wanna teach chemistry. I want to be with _you_. I want to _live my life_ how _**I** want_.” He wipes at his eyes with his flesh hand, sniffing. “I'm _not_ blind, I've just...been living like this _**so long**_ , it’s... _ **hard**_ to... _stand up_ against it all when it feels like it's almost _always_ been pushing me down and just piling on more and _more_ and _**more**_. And I can’t...I can't _**take**_ _it anymore_.”

He starts a little when he hears something _thump_ on the floor and darts his eyes up, staring wide eyed at Steve. Steve whose shirt is gone, Steve whose chest is... _covered_ in scars.

Steve stays still, lets Bucky look for a long minute before slowly taking a step closer, gently closing the distance between them when Bucky doesn’t stop him.

“I'm not comparing,” he explains quietly, looking down at Bucky with gentle eyes, “I just want to show you that...we've both been battered and broken. We've both seen and done too much. And we're here. We made it through _all_ _that_. We had help and we had obstacles, but _we_ made it _here_. You're stronger than you or Pierce think, Bucky,” he adds more firmly, confident, “ _ **You**_ made it here to _**this**_ moment. Even with help, that's _**your**_ _**strength**_.” 

Steve reaches up and Bucky doesn’t move away, just watches him and then looks down when Steve’s hand settles on his chest near his heart, fingers just shy of touching the sun web of scars stretched out from the metal plates encasing what's left of his arm and attaching it to the rest of the arm.

“I’m here,” Steve near whispers, and Bucky looks back up, words gone, “You're here. _We're here_.”

“Steve,” he finally chokes out, just as quiet. 

After a minute, he slowly lifts his left hand, fingers trembling. He hesitates, but Steve doesn't pull away, and Bucky rests it on the scars smattered across Steve’s chest, lifting and resting his right to mirror it. Steve slowly winds his free arm around his waist and pulls him close and Bucky nearly falls into him, pressing his face into the side of Steve’s neck and _sniffing_ hard.

He muffles a sob against Steve’s skin and Steve just pulls him closer, burying his face in his hair. He gradually tightens his hold enough that he's _all_ Bucky can feel, then he feels Steve trembling, too.

Maybe Bucky’s not the monster he thought he was.


	19. Heartbeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ruQQ5UvICvA

“So, what do you want to do?” Steve asks after a while, tracing his fingers lightly down the side of Bucky’s hand. It turns over and their fingertips touch, Bucky’s sliding down along his palm.

“People keep asking me that,” Bucky replies, watching their hands. Bucky turns his and laces their fingers together.

“Then maybe you should do it,” Steve teases gently, giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze. Bucky blows out a soft breath.

“Yeah,” he replies, eyes shifting up to stare at the ceiling. It's quiet for a few moments. “I need a divorce.”

\--

“Are you sure?” Natasha asks. Bucky reaches forward after a moment to gently take her hand in both of his.

“I’m sure,” he replies, looking her in the eye. “Besides,” he adds, lips quirking, “Didn't you really want to marry that ‘peasant boy Barton’?” She cuffs the side of his head with her free hand and he snorts a quiet laugh. Her father certainly has...a way with words.

“You sound better,” she observes, smiling. He blinks. “More confident,” she adds, “Like you know what you want and will get it.” He glances to the side, looking back up when she gives his hand a squeeze. Her smile softens. “It’s good to hear.”

Bucky leans down and presses a kiss to the side of her thumb. He feels her fingers brush back through his hair and sighs softly, turning his head to rest his cheek on the side of her hand.

“Thank you for putting up with me all these years,” he says quietly after a while. Her fingers stop stroking and hook under his chin, lifting his face to look up at hers.

“I didn't ‘put up with you’, James,” she says, expression serious.

“Yeah. But you've been patient with me. Beyond patient with me,” he replies, still quiet, “Tried to get me to go the right direction _countless_ times, nudged me, _yelled_ at me, and stuck it out when I didn't. You coulda left so many times, taken care of yourself without me. But you stayed.”

Her expression softens again and she pulls his hand a bit. He scoots closer and presses all along her side, body molding to hers like they're two parts of the same person. Different from him and Steve. Colder, harsher, but home.

“Your path wasn't my decision to make,” she starts softly, “Nor my timing to choose. You had to do it on your own. And as for me,” she adds, lips quirked again when he looks over, “That was my choice.”

“ _Natalia_ ,” Bucky says, because it's so little, but it's _huge_.

“My life has been dictated since I was young,” she scolds gently, won't have his protest any more this time than she has the other times he's tried, just like her protests at him, “The choice was _mine_ , and no one will take that freedom from me again.”

They hold gazes for a long minute before he slowly nods, and she relaxes back into the couch.

“Now,” she says primly, and he slowly grins, “Let's go get you divorced so you can marry that young whippersnapper.”

“ _Naaat_ ,” he draws out on a laugh, “He's not _that_ much younger than you.”

She gives him a sly, considering look and he stills.

“You did not lie to me about your age.”

Her lips slowly curl up like a cat’s.

“ _Nat_ ,” he protests, and she laughs. He still loves the sound of it.

\--

“You told Barnes’ adopted father _what?_ ”

Steve glances away from Sam's raised eyebrows and not wholly incredulous eyes, trying to keep his lower lip from pouting out.

“He had it coming,” Steve mumbles, _and then some._

There’s silence on Sam’s side and then a blown out breath followed by a laugh attached to the tail end of it. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he says, and Steve’s lips twitch, “But let’s go back to that _other_ thing you said.” Steve suddenly kind of wants the ground to swallow him whole, again. “He’s getting a _divorce_ for you?” Sam asks, and Steve ducks his head, gripping his bag strap tighter.

“Not _exactly_ ,” he replies, risking a glance back, only to be faced with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not _just_ for me,” Steve amends, but Sam doesn’t look convinced.

“But it’s in _part_ for you,” Sam says, lips slowly curving up into a grin. Steve ducks his head a bit again and can’t help his own lips curling up.

They walk in companionable silence for a while before Steve picks up the thread again.

“I showed him,” he says quietly, “The scars.” He won’t tell Sam about Bucky’s, but Steve shares just about _everything_ with Sam. He can share some of this.

They walk for another few moments before Sam bumps their shoulders together.

“Judging from the divorce, he didn’t run the other way screaming,” he teases gently, smiling over with a playfully raised brow, “Or call you...what was it you called yourself? ‘ _Star speckled_ ’?” Steve gives him a _look_ , bumping their shoulders more firmly together.

“I was _drunk_ ,” he defends, trying to keep a straight face and slowly failing when Sam’s smirk stretches into a grin.

“Dugan’s whiskey’ll do that,” Sam teases, “Told you not to drink so much.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Steve starts, mock-offended, “I was drinking for the _both_ of us since _you_ were flying us back.”

“Still can’t believe they didn’t catch us,” Sam laughs, and then Steve laughs, too, their shoulders brushing. A breeze blows by and Steve shivers, burrowing a little further into his coat. Winter’s coming. Which reminds him, he needs to catch up on the latest season of _Thrones_ , too.

“So. You guys are doing this, then?” Sam eventually asks, pulling him out of his thoughts, and Steve can’t help his lips curving up again, straightening back up while they walk.

“Yeah,” he replies, warmth unfurling in his chest, “Yeah. We’re doing this.”

Sam reaches over and wraps an arm around the back of his neck and tugs him closer.

“I’m happy for you,” he says, and Steve smiles, leaning into him.

He’s...happy, too.

\--

‘ _guess wut i got ;)_ ’

Steve blinks at his phone screen, smiling and typing back a reply.

‘ _Wow. You’re a terrible texter._ ’

‘ _D:_ ’

Then:

‘ _don’t talk 2 me in that tone of font_ ’

Steve snorts a laugh, leaning a little more on his elbow on his bed.

_‘Well it’s true.’_

_‘yea yea. n e way. guess wut i got’_

Steve hums in thought.

_‘A book on proper English grammar?’_

_‘ha ha. no. look out ur window’_

Steve frowns.

_‘??’_

_‘rogers. just do it.’_

Steve pushes himself up with a sigh and shuffles on his knees, bracing the hand with his phone on his headboard and cracking some of the blinds open with his fingers, looking out the window.

Bucky’s standing on the sidewalk, and as soon as he sees Steve, he holds up a few sheets of paper with a grin, waving them a little on a breeze. Steve blinks, then looks back to his phone when he gets another text.

‘ _i’m officially single_ ’

Steve’s eyebrows raise, eyes darting back up to the window before dropping back down to his phone. He looks back up and Bucky’s walking towards his building.

Steve sits back, pulling his fingers out from between the blinds and listening to the thin metal _snap_ back into place. His phone vibrates again after a few minutes and he looks down.

‘ _let me in_ ’

Steve looks towards his door and then shuffles off of his bed, heading over to it and pulling it open.

“I don’t know,” he says, suspiciously eyeing Bucky up and down, “Might be a vampire.” Bucky rolls his eyes and pushes inside, Steve moving out of his way before closing the door after him and following.

Bucky turns and grins again, holding out the papers. Steve slowly takes and looks them over, eventually looking back up.

“Really?” he asks, quieter, and Bucky’s expression softens. He nods.

“Yeah. Really,” he replies softly. Steve looks back down to the papers, looking over both _Natasha’s_ and Bucky’s photocopied signatures.

“How do you feel?” Steve asks, looking back up. Bucky lifts his shoulders in a shrug before turning his head, looking to the side, eyes dropping down after a moment.

“Scared. _Terrified_ ,” he answers honestly, looking back up, “But...good, too. I feel good.” Steve’s not sure what makes him think of it, if it’s the tone of Bucky’s voice or the look on his face or if his own thoughts and feelings are painting it into his perception, but it sounds like Bucky’s found the sun again. Bucky _looks_ like he’s found the sun again, eyes brighter than Steve’s seen them in a long time.

He reaches over and gently sets the papers on the nearest surface he can find before slowly stepping closer and reaching forward, just as slowly tangling both sets of their fingers together.

Steve leans forward, resting their foreheads together.

He wants to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. He just looks at Bucky and Bucky looks back, and it...feels good.

“Will Natasha be okay?” Steve eventually asks, voice quiet in the small space between their mouths.

“Have you met her?” Bucky teases quietly, smiling small and open. Steve cracks his own smile and closes his eyes, sighing quietly.

“What about _him?_ ” he asks after a minute, opening his eyes again. Bucky stares back, eyes slowly going steely, resolved.

“Fuck him,” he whispers, then repeats, louder, “ _Fuck him_.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything more, but that’s all either of them really need to know.

“Hey, Steve?” Bucky asks after another short while, and Steve lifts his head slightly in question, “Can you help me with something?” Bucky pulls back and untangles his flesh fingers, reaching up to grip his ponytail and pull it out to the side. “Help me cut this?” he asks, and Steve blinks, eyes widening a little.

“You’re sure?” he asks, and Bucky bites the inside of his lip for a moment before nodding, eyes resolving again.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he says firmly, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Alright,” Steve replies, looking around.

He gently leads Bucky over to his desk, swiping a finger across his laptop’s fingerpad to wake it up while he digs a pair of scissors out of a drawer and grabs the small, nearby garbage can, setting it in front of him. He gestures for Bucky to take a seat before opening the webcam app and moving to stand behind him.

“How do you want it?” Steve asks, and Bucky stares at himself on the screen in thought.

“Take it all off,” he decides. Steve’s eyebrows jump up a little but he slowly nods, reaching for Bucky’s ponytail and lightly sliding his palm down the under-length of it.

“Alright,” he says quietly, mostly to himself, and raises the scissors to cut the ponytail off, gently sawing through the width of hair. He reaches around, after, to drop it in the trash before getting to work on the rest.

Bucky helps guide him through how he wants it while Steve glances up at him in the screen off and on, and after, they take a picture on the app together, Bucky’s hair the shortest Steve’s seen it and Bucky grinning like a kid.

It _stuns_ Steve for a minute, because all this time, Bucky hasn’t been smiling much. But _now?_

Now he _is_.

\--

Bucky texts the second picture they took to Nat, his phone vibrating after a few minutes.

_‘Sure. Rub it in why don’t you. :(‘_

He laughs, locking his car and heading to the house.

_‘;)’_

He gets the door open before deciding to add:

_‘oh. btw. do u want the house???’_

He shuts the front door and gets a shoe off before his phone vibrates again.

_‘No. I’m going to live with Clint in his disaster apartment.’_

_‘nat no. u’ll die.’_

_‘Pray for me. 8(‘_

He laughs, gets his other shoe off, then:

_‘Pray I don’t trip over a stray coffee pot and bludgeon myself on the corner of a table.‘_

Bucky laughs again, dropping his bag on the table and turning into the living room to plop down onto the couch.

 _‘have u told him yet??_ ’

_‘No. I’m waiting outside his classroom door. I can see him. He’s sleeping on the table next to Sam.’_

_That’s_ easy to picture.

_‘ur father will love him’_

_‘Don’t I know it. 8) Went well with Steve, I take it?’_

He perks up.

_‘we made sweet, sweet love ;)’_

_‘I hope his neighbors don’t kick him out. I know how loud you can be.’_

_‘do not’_

_‘Do too.’_

_‘do not!’_

_‘Do too. ;)’_

Bucky huffs a breath, in the middle of tapping out another reply when he hears _banging_ on his front door. His head whips around and he frowns, dread slowly filling his chest.

_‘company’_

_‘Good? Bad?’_ Nat texts after a moment.

_‘probs not good’_

More banging.

_‘Need me? >:(‘_

He considers it, but-

_‘no. ill handle it’_

He pushes himself up, slipping his phone in his pocket and reaching for the door amid _more banging_ -

Pierce stares, fist raised to hit the door again, and Bucky stills.

“ _You_ ,” Pierce starts, pointing at him accusingly, and Bucky nearly _flinches_ , “You are going back to that lawyer and reversing the dissolving of your marriage.” Bucky stares and Pierce stares back, and slowly, very slowly, that... _fear_ quivering in his chest, that constant fear, doesn’t quite die down but...shifts, changes. Not all the way, not completely, but enough for him to-

“No,” he replies, voice sounding and coming out firm enough to surprise even him because he _means_ it, he _**said it**_ , “No. I’m not.”

Pierce narrows his eyes, taking a slow step forward. Bucky takes one back.

“ _Yes. You are_ ,” Pierce says flatly, “You are _not_ throwing your life and career away for some- _gay punk_ you met in _high school_.” Bucky bristles, fingers slowly curling into fists. “You are going to re-marry Natasha Romanoff and take your place in the company as my heir. Stop wasting your time on _foolish ideals_ and come back to _reality._ _This_ is your life, it always has been, even with that…” he waves an arm towards Bucky’s left shoulder and there’s something like an animalistic scream working on building up in his throat, “ _Everything’s_ been leading up to _this moment_.”

Bucky grits his teeth, fingers curling tighter and metal grinding faintly against metal.

“You’re right,” he says calmly, and Pierce relaxes slightly, “Everything _has_ been leading up to this moment.”

He pulls his right fist back and punches Pierce right across the jaw, knuckles connecting solid and dull pain shooting up to his wrist. Pierce stumbles back into the door frame with pained sound, hand coming up to cradle his jaw while he stares, eyes wide and blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

“You-” he starts, brows pulling down and eyes _angry_.

“I don’t want it!” Bucky shouts, cutting him off and surprising himself, “I _never wanted it!_ I wanted that boy I brought to the house! I wanted to bring my friends over without you beating on me like some kind of _freak!_ Trying to beat _who I was_ out of me! I wanted Steve! I _**want Steve!**_ And I didn’t want this- this-” he throws his left arm out and barely notices Pierce flinch slightly. “I didn’t want this _monster_ _on me!_ I wanted Tony’s help! I _wanted_ him to _help me_. I _**needed it**_. And you _took it away from me!_ You turned me into this- this self-loathing person I barely _recognized_ who _constantly_ felt like a _piece_ of _shit!_ I couldn’t look in the mirror until _three months ago_ without- without seeing myself and wishing I could just-” he gestures sharply. “I wanted to _disappear!_ I wanted to be _gone!_ _Stop existing! **You** did that to me!_” he yells the last, breathing hard.

They stare hard at each other for a long minute while Bucky tries to get his breath back and Pierce processes.

Bucky uncurls and re-curls his fists.

“You made me feel like _nothing_ ,” he says, quieter but no less- furious. God, he’s _furious_. “You made me feel like _less_ than nothing. Like I wasn’t- Like I couldn’t exist unless I was what _you_ wanted me to be. Like I- like I was the image you had in your head. And I’m _not!_ I’m _not_ that! I’m _me! **Me!**_ Natalia, Steve, Tony, Clint- _They’re_ my family. They’re my _friends_. They _know_ _me_ and care _about_ me and want me to _**be**_ that person that I really _am_. _You’re_ \- You’re nothing.”

He realizes it as soon as he says it, the truth of it ringing like a damn bell of _clarity_ throughout his whole body.

“ _You’re_ _nothing_ ,” Bucky repeats, more surprised now than angry, eyes widening a little. “I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to do this anymore. God, _I don’t have to do this anymore_ ,” he says, voice gradually rising again as it sinks in.

He reaches for the door and pauses when Pierce’s hand slaps against it when he starts to close it, staring back, eyes wide.

“You do this,” Pierce starts, huffing, “And I’m taking it all. I’m cutting everything off. _You’ll_ have _nothing_.”

“Do it,” Bucky says without hesitating, and Pierce pauses, “ _Do it_. Because you’re wrong. I’ll have _me_ , and the _people_ who _care about that person_.”

He forces the door shut and locks and bolts it. Pierce bangs on it and Bucky slowly backs up a few steps. After long, long minute, the blurred, distorted figure of Pierce beyond the glass slowly shifts and then retreats away.

Bucky breathes out a shaky breath, trembling.

-

He stares at the window for a long time, just trying to breathe, trying to _process_ , trying to _feel anything_ beyond the fear and anxiety in his chest and the gradual decrease of the pounding of his heart. He stares long enough that the light from the setting sun nearly blinds him in rainbow crystals bouncing off of the cut glass.

He feels his phone vibrate a few times against his leg but barely acknowledges it, staring at the window.

-

After another while, when the sun’s gone down, the sound of keys in the door makes him blink out of his daze, _jolting_ a little when metal turns and the door opens, heart rate skyrocketing again. What if it’s-

Natasha pauses just inside the door, staring at him for a moment before dropping her bag and rushing over. She leaves her keys in the door, he notes absently.

“Bucky? _Bucky_ ,” she says, soft and urgent, and he blinks again, eyes slowly dragging from the slightly swaying keys reflecting the lights outside, to her eyes, darker in the shadows.

Oh. It’s dark.

“ _Bucky_ ,” she says again, shaking him just a little, gently, “Are you okay?”

He’s not sure. _Is_ he okay?

“I…” he trails off, staring for a few moments, then _lurches_ forward, wrapping his arms around her. She stills before slowly wrapping hers around him, stroking a hand smoothly down his back. “ _I did it_ ,” he whispers after a while, and her hand pauses. The backs of his eyes sting so hard he’s almost worried the _burn’s_ going to take them out. “ _I did it_ ,” he repeats, choking the last of it out. She tightens her arms around him and he tightens his almost hard enough to hurt _back_ , _just_ remembering to be careful with his left.

“I’m proud of you,” she says quietly, firm, and he squeezes his eyes shut, “How do you feel?”

“ _Drunk_ ,” he chokes out on a laugh, “Scared...But mostly I think...free. I feel relief, and I feel _free_.” She squeezes him again and he turns his head to bury his face in the side of her neck, shaking.

“Why don’t we actually get you drunk?” she suggests, and he chokes out another laugh, nodding.

“ _Please_ ,” he half jokes back pleadingly, but doesn’t move, just holds onto her as tight as he’ll let himself while she holds onto him right back.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he eventually whispers, and feels her smile against his jaw.

“Come on,” she says, pulling back, and he makes himself do it, too, but sticks close. She starts guiding him towards the kitchen, ignoring the open front door. Honestly, if anyone’s brave or stupid enough to try breaking in with _her_ around, they deserve whatever they get, good _or_ bad. “Let’s get you drunk,” she continues, “We can drink that wine Tony gave us at our wedding.”

“ _God_ ,” Bucky lets out on a laugh, “Probably got it for this very occasion.”

Her lips curl up. “Probably,” is all she says, and he doesn’t even care if it sounds the least bit cryptic.

He did it. He’s _free_.

\--

The door opens and Steve drags his eyes up from his phone when Sam flicks the lights on.

“Well you look dopey,” Sam comments, and Steve just grins. He’s been smiling for _hours_. “He get divorced?” Steve grins wider and Sam laughs, bending down to untie and take his shoes off at the door. “Careful,” he says, “You keep that up, your face’ll get stuck that way.”

“Not a bad way for it to get stuck,” Steve replies, looking back down at his phone. His grin shrinks to a wide smile and he hears Sam laugh. His smile lessens a bit when he sobers again. He hasn’t stopped smiling, but- “I sent Bucky a text a while ago, though, and he hasn’t-” His phone vibrates and Steve blinks, tapping his thumb quick to open the message.

_‘sry. pierce stopped by’_

Steve sits up quick, curling forward over his phone while he taps a quick message back.

_‘You okay???’_

_‘yea. i’m’_

After a moment, his phone rings and Steve answers it immediately, bringing it up to his ear. “Bucky?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Bucky slurrs back, and Steve blinks, “ _S’me, Steve.Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeve. I love your face. I mean voice. Steve. Your face. **Voice**_.”

“Are you drunk?” Steve asks, lips struggling to curl up even while worry pulses in his chest with his heart.

“ _Yeeeeeah_ ,” Bucky draws out, grin in his voice, “ _Nat got me- got me drunk. Nat’s so good. Naaaaaaaaat, you’re so gooooooood. I love youuu. I love you, Nat. Best wife I ever had._ ”

“ _I’m the only wife you’ve ever had_ ,” Steve hears in the background, before, “ _Hello, Steve! I’m getting him some water! Here, Bucky, drink this._ ” He hears a throat working and presumably Bucky swallowing, then a glass _thunk_ hard against a counter.

“ _Not as good as the wine_ ,” Bucky says, and Steve can almost picture the look Natasha gives him.

“Bucky?” Steve asks.

“ _Steeeeeeeeeve_ ,” Bucky draws out, voice getting louder and closer to the phone. Bucky’s probably smooshing his face against it. It’s not beyond Steve’s imagination. “ _Steve. I did it. I beat him. I’m **free!** I saved my own ass. I got out of the dungeon. And I hit him! Punched him. I punched him. I was so scared. But I’m- I’m free! I’m free n-now. Free, Stevie, **free**._ ”

Steve smiles at that, scooting back a bit to lean against his headboard. He looks up and gives Sam a thumbs up at his concerned look. Sam smiles and nods, collecting his toothbrush and toothpaste and disappearing out the door.

“That’s good,” Steve reassures, and there’s a pause before Steve hears what sounds like the phone falling and clattering against the counter. He hears Bucky curse quietly and bites his lower lip to keep his laugh in, body shaking slightly against his headboard.

“ _Steve?_ ” Bucky asks worriedly.

“I’m here,” Steve reassures, and Bucky blows out a breath.

“ _I got you. I got you_ ,” he reassures, and Steve laughs quietly while Bucky lets out a sigh.

They both settle down and it’s quiet for a bit, Steve listening to the sound of Bucky breathing, and Bucky him.

“ _Wish you were here_ ,” Bucky says quietly. Steve smiles.

“Do you want me to be?” he asks back, just as quiet.

“ _Mmhmm_ ,” Bucky hums in return, phone _clanking_ quietly on something. Sam comes back in and Steve thinks about it for just a moment before scooting up and off his bed and walking over to the door. He pulls his shoes on one handed before picking up the keys off of Sam’s desk and raising his eyebrows in question.

Sam looks back, nodding after a moment with a thumbs up.

“I’ll be over in just a bit,” Steve says to Sam and into the phone, grabbing his coat and trading ears and hands with the phone briefly while he gets it on, “Wait for me.”

“ _Been waiting for you for **years**_ ,” Bucky mumbles, and Steve’s heart stops, then skips a beat when it starts back up. “ _Waiting for me, too_ ,” Bucky adds with the philosophy of the drunk, and Steve’s lips twitch.

“Just another twenty minutes,” he says softer, waving to Sam with a jangle of the keys as he heads out the door. He sees Sam wave back before he gets it shut, and heads down the hall and out into the parking lot, cold air hitting him like leaf straight to the face. “I’m going to hang up now and drive over, okay?” he asks, “Just wait for me.”

“ _‘D wait for you forever_ ,” Bucky slurs seriously, and Steve can’t help smiling at that, lips curling up and heart warming in his chest.

-

He speeds just a bit on the way over, but it only shaves off a few minutes. He parks the car outside next to the other two and steps out, locking it and heading over to the path that leads up to the front door.

Steve knocks, and after a minute, a figure approaches from the other side. The door opens, Natasha holding it wide. He slips inside when she opens it further, toeing his shoes off and putting his jacket on the coat hanger above them.

“Where is he?” he asks quietly, and Natasha gestures to the living room. Steve turns and heads into it, finding Bucky sprawled out along the couch. As soon as Bucky sees him, he pushes himself up a bit, making a grabbing motion at him with his right hand.

“Steeeeve,” he slurs, smiling and then frowning, gesturing more intently. Steve cracks a smile and crosses over and takes a seat on the edge of the couch, laughing quietly when Bucky curls around his back and wraps both arms around his waist, resting his cheek in his lap. Steve wraps his own arms around Bucky, pressing his forehead to the top of Bucky’s.

Bucky blows out a breath, and Steve feels the warmth of it through his jean clad thigh.

“There you are,” Bucky says, quiet and relieved, slumping a bit. Steve sits up a little and runs his fingers back through Bucky’s short hair, down the back of his neck. Bucky melts as his hand moves down his spine, sighing quietly. “Stay?” Bucky asks after a minute, and Steve nods, gently helping Bucky maneuver to lay back down.

“Until the morning,” Steve promises, and Bucky frowns. “I took Sam’s car,” Steve explains, stretching out on the couch next to him. Bucky tangles their legs together and wraps himself around him, giving him a sloppy kiss. Steve huffs a laugh, doing his best to return it before Bucky pulls back and buries his face into the side of his neck.

“ _Stay forever_ ,” he whispers, and Steve’s smile softens, tightening his arms around him.

“ _I’ll stay_ ,” Steve whispers back, stroking his fingers back through Bucky’s hair long past when he falls asleep.

Maybe _Bucky_ will, this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys. Just wanted to let you all know that this story is working on wrapping itself up, too. Maybe a chapter or two left, we'll see. It's almost done. ;-;


	20. Be still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! This is the end! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fjdskfjdsfjdksll.  
> Thank you Gina for betaing the start for me, and thank you Kay for betaing the rest. ;-; And for the help with the last chapter especially! Saving my ass fjdksfljkdsl.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this. ;-; Thanks for sticking it out with me.
> 
> Music; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vtp-p7qFI2I

“So he’s taking all your money?” Steve asks, sitting at the kitchen island. He makes a face before biting into an apple, leaning a little on the marble counter.

He took the car back so Sam could use it if he needed, but he wanted to be here when Bucky woke up, so Natasha followed him and drove him back. He needs to pay her back for the gas. At least he doesn’t have a class until afternoon today.

“Basically,” Bucky replies across from him, taking a bite of his toast, “‘ _Locking all my assets_ ’,” he adds after swallowing, waggling his eyebrows. Steve snorts.

“Not _all_ your assets,” he quips back, and Bucky smirks into his next bite.

“But everything he put aside for me to take over his company is getting locked down. Any money I had left in a trust fund he made for me when I started living with him. Things like that,” Bucky explains, “My personal bank account and whatever joint accounts Natasha and I had and are working on splitting are fine, but I’m basically floating on whatever savings I have and my paychecks from teaching.” Steve snorts, waving a hand, and Bucky laughs. “Yeah,” he agrees, “His idea of ‘nothing’ isn’t the same as yours and _mine._ ”

Pierce’s idea of nothing is not being able to dine at a five star restaurant every day.

Their idea of nothing is, well, _nothing_.

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky says in the middle of chewing his toast, “Nat and I’ll probably sell the house, split it fifty-fifty like we bought it.” Steve raises his eyebrows a little and Bucky shrugs.

“She’s completely fine with all this?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods, resting his chin on his laced fingers, elbows on the marble top.

“Yeah,” he replies, “Told you she had a thing for Barton.” He barely dodges the fork thrown at him, the fork hitting the low wall next to the dining room and _clattering_ to the floor. Bucky smirks and Steve shakes his head a little, looking over at Natasha. She collects another fork from the drawer and slides it shut, picking up her meal before she goes.

“You’re picking that up,” she says on her way, raising an eyebrow at Bucky.

He frowns.

“We’re not married anymore,” he counters. She pauses and slowly raises her other eyebrow, and Bucky slowly hunches a bit. “Okay.” She continues on out to the living room, taking her food with her. Steve watches her go, smirking over at Bucky. “Shuddup,” Bucky replies, brows lowered. Steve’s smirk slowly stretches into a grin.

“So what are you going to do?” Steve asks after a minute, taking another bite of his apple and resting the side of his neck on a hand, leaning on his elbow on the kitchen island.

“Keep teaching Poli. Sci. while I get what I need to start teaching Chemistry,” Bucky answers, working on his second piece of toast. Steve watches him with warm eyes and a smile, and watches Bucky’s face slowly start to redden. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Steve replies, taking another bite, “Just...you.” Bucky frowns a little, flush deepening. He bites into his toast.

 _That’s probably what love is_ , Steve thinks, moments like this. It doesn’t scare him as much as he thought it would.

“What are _you_ gonna do?” Bucky asks after a few minutes, and Steve hums, looking down at his apple while he swallows his bite.

“I’m gonna work on my art degree, try to find a job. See my boyfriend.” He looks up. Bucky’s lips slowly curve up and Steve smiles. “That’s about all I got.” He takes a bite. Bucky hums quietly and that gets Steve curious. “What is it?” he asks, pausing his chewing briefly.

“Well…” Bucky trails off, looking down at his toast, “If Nat and I sell the house...I’ll have to find somewhere else to live. I’m not asking you to move in with me,” he adds hurriedly, and Steve watches him, trying to control his heart rate. “I think we need to...probably work on our relationship first. Gotta lot to make up for,” Bucky adds, smiling at Steve a little helplessly.

Steve sits up and reaches over with his free hand, and Bucky meets him in the middle, fingers lacing together.

“But...I don’t know,” Bucky continues after a minute of them just staring dopily at each other, “Maybe...after a while, we could...I mean I’m probably bringing it up too early, I just- Do you think you’d ever-”

“Yes,” Steve saves him from floundering, and Bucky’s eyes dart back up from their hands, a little wide and cautiously hopeful.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly, and Steve nods, giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze. Bucky squeezes his back.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, and Bucky smiles tentatively, smile slowly growing more confident and warm.

Maybe it _is_ a little too soon to be thinking about that, but for once, just as cautiously as Bucky’s hope, _Steve_ feels hopeful, too.

They eat the rest of their breakfast in companionable quiet, Bucky eventually putting his dish in the dishwasher and Steve throwing his apple core away and washing his hands before they walk out of the kitchen, hand in hand.

“Wait,” Bucky says, stopping when they reach the foyer. He looks to Steve. “Wait here a few minutes, okay?” Steve nods and Bucky hesitates, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek before letting go and darting up the stairs. Steve blinks after him, chest warming all over again. He crosses over to lean on the doorway to the living room after a minute, looking over at Natasha on the couch. She looks up from her book.

“You’re _really_ okay with all this?” he double checks, because he has to be sure.

Her lips slowly curve up, one eyebrow raising with them.

“I’ve been waiting for this to happen for the past eight years, too, Steve,” she replies, and he slips his hands into his jean pockets, ducking his head a bit and then tilting it to rest it against the doorframe.

“Sorry it took us so long,” he returns, and she smiles, _actually_ smiles.

“ _Boys_ ,” is all she says, teasing, and he laughs quietly, shrugging his shoulders helplessly with a nod.

“Boys,” he agrees, sharing a smile with her before the sound of footsteps catch his attention and he pushes up off of the doorframe, backing up and turning to look. He blinks, mouth dropping open slightly while he stares.

Bucky hops down the last step, making a brief face before reaching down to pull his jeans up a bit, shifting his hips. He throws his arms out, leather jacket hanging over his shoulder, and does one spin all the way around. “Better?” he asks. Steve keeps staring, eyes roaming all over him.

Seeing Bucky in a t-shirt and jeans really shouldn’t be so.. _.novel,_ but it _is_. It’s like seeing Natasha in sweatpants or Sam in his Falcon uniform. It’s...rare, but so fitting it almost _hurts_.

“Would it be weird if I said I was a little turned on?” Steve asks, still staring, and Bucky flushes, but smiles, then _smirks_ , pleased.

“I’ll take it,” he half jokes back, stepping in close. “ _Knew_ you had a thing for me in jeans,” he mumbles, tips of their noses barely brushing. Bucky reaches down and slowly takes his hands, watching him while Bucky guides them up to settle on his hips. Steve sucks in a short breath, fingers flexing before tightening a little, feeling the material over the shape of Bucky. It’s just so... _different_ from the suit pants. Just...more _Bucky_ , in a lot of ways.

Steve slowly lowers his head a smidge and Bucky slowly raises his, meeting him in the middle for slow, gentle, but firm kiss. It sends a little shudder down Steve’s spine.

Bucky pulls back just enough to speak, low and sultry and quiet. “Let’s get you to class, college boy.”

Steve snorts faintly.

“After you,” he mumbles back. Bucky huffs, but slowly pulls away and walks around Steve to head for the door.

“You just wanna get a look at my ass,” he teases.

“Of course I do,” Steve replies, grinning before getting his shoes on next to Bucky and following. “Those slacks had _nothing_ on these jeans.”

\--

Steve taps his heel to the beat in his headphones while he sketches a week later, trying not to _hum_ along. It’s hard when the song’s good. He packs up his things at the end of class, closing his sketchpad, and gets his coat on before fitting his sketch pad under his arm, gripping the bottom.

He’s heading out when he feels a _tap-tap_ on his arm and stops, pulling an earbud out while he turns around.

“Raven?” he asks.

“Hey there, Romeo,” she teases, robe wrapped closed, and he flushes lightly. Her smile spreads. “Thought so,” she says, “You found someone.” Steve ducks his head a little. “I just wanted to say,” she continues, “That it’s good to see you smiling again. You were kinda gloomy for a while there. I’m glad for you.”

He smiles, rubbing at the back of his neck with a hand. “Thank you, Raven,” he replies sincerely.

She smiles back and heads over to the side room to change, leaving him with a wave. Steve slips his earbud back in and heads out, leaving class with a smile still on his face, despite the cold.

-

He meets Sam and a dopey looking Clint for lunch. Clint even almost trips trying to _sit down_.

Steve smiles.

He has a good idea as to _why_.

“Steve,” Clint says after a groaned bite into his slice of pizza, “Is there anything you need? I owe you _big time_.”

“Nat ask you out?” Steve asks, and Clint’s smile goes straight into _blissful,_ and not just because of the pizza, which is answer enough.

“You ever need anything, _anything_ , just say the word,” Clint says, taking another bite.

“ _Wellll_ …” Steve trails off after a minute, “I do need a job.”

“You picky where?” Clint asks, chasing a drooping string of cheese into his next bite.

Steve blinks. “Somewhere artsy, preferably, but no, not really,” he answers, surprised. He didn’t really think Clint would-

Clint nods, cutting off his train of thought, and reaches across the table. Steve, after a hesitant moment, reaches back.

They shake on it.

He grabs napkin after to try and wipe the grease off of his palm, reaching for his hand sanitizer when he can’t get it all off, looking at Clint the whole while.

“Consider it done,” is all Clint says.

Sam raises his eyebrows in the middle of chewing and looks to Steve, shrugging when Steve looks back.

Well. That’s that, Steve supposes. It’s weird, how sometimes things just fall into place. He can’t trust it to _always_ do that, but looking back it kind of…

He cried, he raged, he hurt, he cried some more, and he went through pain, not all of it voluntarily, but if he hadn’t taken the path that he did, where would he be now? Would he still be dating Bucky? Would he be in college? Would he have joined the army? Would his _ma_ still be alive, somehow? It’s probably pointless to wonder and question, the human thing to do, but-

No. He’s here, he’s alive, he only has a vague idea what he wants to do with his future, but he’s got... _people_ around him that will listen when he needs it, who depend on him when _they_ need it, and-...

And he’s lost a lot, but he’s gained a lot, too.

He doesn’t know what the future will bring, doesn’t think he’d want to know if he could, but right now? Right now, he’s...he’s good.

\--

He and Bucky are walking in the park a couple of days later, hands swinging a little between them where their fingers are laced together when Bucky slows to a stop. Steve looks over to see his eyes just a little wide, head slowly turning to look back at him.

“I just realized,” Bucky says, and Steve frowns, turning a little towards him.

“What?”

Bucky moves around to stand in front of him, still holding his hand, then lowers down to one knee on the cement. Steve’s eyes widen.

“Steve Rogers-” Bucky starts, expression serious.

“Bucky, what-” Steve starts, too, heart hammering in his chest. _He’s not ready for-_

“Will you go out on an _official, real_ date with me?” Bucky asks, almost completely earnest, but his lips twitch up a little after a moment.

Steve stares at him.

“Oh my God,” he lets out, and Bucky finally cracks a grin.

“Had you goin’,” he teases.

“I hate you,” Steve replies, still trying to slow his heart rate.

“Is that a ‘no’?” Bucky asks, raising a brow, “I was serious about the date thing.” Steve _yanks_ him up and Bucky lets himself be pulled.

“Get off the ground,” Steve scolds, only half meaning it, the rest of him still trying to recover from _shock, God_. Bucky just smiles, leaning in, and Steve can feel his lips smirking against his own into the kiss.

“Pick you up at eight,” Bucky near-whispers against his lips. Steve rolls his eyes, cheeks warm, and Bucky just _grins_.

\--

“Don’t peek yet,” Bucky says that night, voice light and close to Steve’s ear, metal hand guiding him forward by his shoulder.

“I’m not,” Steve frowns, defensive, “Can’t see a thing anyway, with your hand over my eyes.”

“So you _would_ peek,” Bucky’s voice teases, “Good to know.”

Steve huffs a breath and decides not to reply to that, letting Bucky lead him wherever they’re going. They were in the car for a short while, and he heard a house door open and close and their footsteps echo a little, which means they’re _probably_ at Bucky and Nat’s house. Maybe ( _he’s pretty sure he bumped into that damn expensive and useless hall table_ ). He focuses instead on the smells he’s starting to pick up, mouth watering a little.

“Is that-” Steve starts.

Bucky lifts his hand and Steve blinks quickly, eyes trying to adjust to the light. He spots the candles first as they slowly focus, set up around the living room to give it a low, warm glow, and then he spots a couple pizza boxes stacked on the low coffee table, a stack of movies next to it and a set of books next to _those_ -

Wait.

“Are those…?” Steve trails off, walking closer and around the couch to get a better look, heartbeat picking up.

 _Harry Potter; The Complete Set_.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve breathes, chest warming, and turns around. Bucky ducks his head a little and smiles, a little shy, but eyes soft and warm.

“There’s cookie dough in the fridge,” he says quietly, “Is it okay?” he asks, hopeful, “I haven’t exactly been on a real _date_ , before.” Steve’s chest feels warm and full of clouds, like they’re rising and buoying him above- he doesn’t know, just _above_. “I figured we could watch at least the first movie,” Bucky continues, glancing away then back again, a nervous tick, “Then maybe...we could take turns reading to each other?” he asks, hopeful again.

Steve smiles, slow, walking back over. He stops in front of Bucky, then just as slowly reaches up to gently cup Bucky’s cheeks in his hands and leans in to kiss him, soft and warm. He feels and hears Bucky _sigh_ quietly into it, hands coming up to rest on Steve’s hips while Bucky slowly melts into the touch, the kiss.

“It’s okay?” Bucky asks again in a near-whisper when they pull away just a little. Steve smiles again, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together.

“It’s perfect,” he whispers back. Bucky smiles, wide and warm, and Steve lowers his hands to take hold of Bucky’s own, gently pulling him further into the room.

They put the first movie in and Steve curls up against Bucky’s side on the couch, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s waist while Bucky wraps his right one around Steve’s shoulders. Steve rests the side of his head against the side of Bucky’s neck and feels lips press a kiss to his head, then the movie logo appears on the tv screen and they settle in, feeling warm and... _loved_.

-

“So?” Steve asks a few hours later, “What do you think?”

“We can’t make these decisions lightly, Steve,” Bucky replies, voice grave.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve whines, “It’s been _ten_ _minutes_.” Bucky gives him a side-eye look before looking back up to the ceiling, frowning a bit.

“Wolf,” he _finally_ decides, “My patronus would be a wolf.”

Steve raises his eyebrows with a hum, staring up at the ceiling with him. “That...actually makes a lot of sense.”

Bucky _hums_ back. “What about you?”

Steve frowns, tapping a set of fingers where his hand rests on his chest. “Lion. I think,” he answers, “Or a dog.”

Bucky whistles. “Well, if you were a dog, we could run together.”

Steve snorts, turning his head to look at him. “A dog and a wolf?” he asks, “You got me beat.” Bucky turns his head to look back. “With those claws and those teeth? All the better to eat me with,” Steve teases with a smirk, waggling his eyebrows a bit. He laughs when Bucky shoves at him.

“Lion,” Bucky decides after they settle back down, gradually looking at him a lot in awe, “Because you’re fierce, courageous, kind of terrifying, and you stand up for what you believe in, always have. You make me want to do it, too.” Steve’s expression softens and Bucky rubs a thumb over his knuckles, adding softly, “And I’d follow you anywhere.” Steve smiles, cheeks pleasantly warm and heart a little fluttery.

It’s quiet for a minute.

“Does this make me the alpha?” Steve asks.

Bucky shoves him again and Steve laughs.

\--

“You sure about this?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, quirking his lips up before it turns into a smirk, “Consider it my early wedding gift to you and Barton.” She gives him a look and he just grins. “All the house money is yours.”

She looks over at the house, raising a hand to block the sun from her eyes.

“Where will you live?” she asks.

“I’ve been looking at a few places,” he replies.

“We’ll have to compromise,” she returns. He raises his eyebrows at her in question and she slants him a look. “I’m going to be your neighbour.”

His lips curl up. “Not going back to Russia?”

She hums.

“Moving in with Clint?” he asks next.

She smiles beatifically.

Bucky snorts.

“Well,” he says, “I’m not gonna miss sleeping in the same bed to make evidence for when Pierce came over.” He flinches when she punches his flesh arm. “And that’s _exactly_ why!” She smiles.

After a minute, she leans over, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Ex-husband,” she says, softly teasing, and _he_ smiles, can’t help it.

“Ex-wife,” he returns.

“Let’s go find a place to live.” She offers her arm out and he hooks his own with it.

“I have a meeting with Stark in a few hours,” he warns. She just keeps smiling, tilting her head coyly.

“Then that’s how long we’ll take.”

He groans.

“One condition,” she adds, “Let’s find a place that allows cats. I’ve been thinking about getting one. Maybe black.”

\--

Pierce puts up a final fight against Bucky and Natasha’s divorce, but it doesn’t last long. Bucky and Natasha had decided on the divorce on mutual terms, and a third party’s interest doesn’t last more than what seems like a moment, brushed to the wayside like so much dirt.

 _Natasha’s_ father puts up a bit of a fight, too, but from what little Bucky relayed, Steve gathered she scared him in the way she’s kind of scared Steve since high school, and he quieted down quickly enough.

But, while Natasha’s father didn’t threaten to disown her, Pierce tried one more time to threaten Bucky. When Bucky didn’t cave, Pierce demanded Bucky’s left arm back, citing that he’d ‘ _paid for every centimeter of it and it was, therefore and by all rights, **his** ’_.

Natasha, in no uncertain terms, threatened to bring Hell down on his head until the day he died.

Pierce slunk away with his tail between his legs. Apparently, Bucky told him later, in the eight years or so they’d been married, Pierce had never really seen the Natasha they all knew, just the image of her he wanted to. Bucky called it ‘ _one of her webs_ ’. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but at the same time, he thought he understood. Natasha _was_ a lot like a spider, quiet and silent and lying in wait, waiting until the right moment to strike.

If he thinks about it too much, it starts seeming more and more like his and Bucky’s relationship was _her_ idea, helping them to navigate since high school up to this moment.

Steve quickly decides not to think about it, or what _other_ webs she might have in place.

\--

_Five Months Later_

 

“You all set?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, giving his fingers a firm squeeze and looking up, “See you on the other side.”

Steve bends down to kiss him, holding his hand more firmly and tightening the other on his hip, tugging him a little closer when Bucky grips his hand tighter. “I’ll be here the whole time,” he whispers against Bucky’s lips, kissing him again.

“Promise?” Bucky whispers back, and Steve smiles softly.

“Promise,” he whispers, firmly pressing their foreheads together, “I’d follow you anywhere,” he parrots, and Bucky snorts quietly, staring up at him.

Bucky nods a little after a few minutes, more to himself than to Steve, then turns and sits on the gurney, scooting a little before laying down, holding Steve’s hand the whole time. Steve gives it another squeeze.

“I’ll see you when you wake up,” he promises softly, bending down to kiss the back of Bucky’s hand, reaching over to do the same with his left.

“Okay,” Bucky replies quietly, trying on a shaky smile. Steve returns it, and then they’re wheeling Bucky away, hands and fingers sliding apart.

 _It’s only seven hours_ , Steve tells himself, making himself take a breath when Natasha’s hand settles on his shoulder. He looks over at her, then back to Sam and Clint before turning his head back forward to watch the gurney disappear into a room.

It’s only seven hours.

-

Steve paces the hall more than once, runs on coffee until the sun sets, and then sits with his back to the wall, closing his eyes. He forces them open when he starts feeling tired, staring up at the shiny white ceiling of Stark Tower.

 _‘Stark Tower’_ , he thinks, tired and rueful, _but that’s really something, Tony._

-

He only sleeps once he knows Bucky’s out of surgery, stumbling a little, quickly, to his feet to meet an exhausted looking Tony halfway down the hall.

He’s not sure who takes the exhaustion cake, but Steve’s willing to concede it to Tony if he can see Bucky.

\--

“How’s it feel?” Steve asks, several cups of coffee, hours, and a nap in a surprisingly half decently comfortable chair later.

Bucky considers it, slowly curling and uncurling his new set of fingers. They slide smoother than the last, and the whole thing is _lighter_ , _so much lighter_. He didn’t realize how much pain he was used to being in until it was _gone_.

“Better,” Bucky answers after a minute, looking back up. Steve slips his coat over his shoulders, careful of his left one and the sling, and then settles up against his right side. Bucky takes a step and wobbles, leaning into Steve’s side and the stabilizing grip on his right arm. “Gotta get used to that,” he mutters.

Steve smiles. “You will.”

Bucky nudges into him, just a little.

“Let’s go home?” Steve asks, looking tired and worn and damn beautiful, especially with the sun coming up behind him, wrapping him in gold.

_How did he get so lucky?_

He nods and Steve helps him out into the hall, wrapping an arm warm around his waist. Bucky smiles, heart _fluttery_ and _warm_ , then grins when his friends rush over to meet them. His _family_.

 

The End


End file.
